


Couldn't Tame You If I Wanted To

by Rinielle



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 10 Things I Hate About You AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinielle/pseuds/Rinielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling in love is the last thing Marius Pontmercy expects to happen when he walks through the doors of his new school. What's even more unexpected is that she feels the same way. It should be the perfect romance... there's just one problem. Well, make that two problems. Or two simple rules:</p><p>1. Cosette Fauchelevent does not date.<br/>2. Cosette Fauchelevent goes nowhere without a chaperon</p><p>But if they just happen to turn up to the same place at the same time, well that's just coincidence right? All they need to do is convince her twin brother to escort her somewhere that isn't a protest.</p><p>Okay make that three problems.</p><p>They might need some help with this...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which a New Face Arrives at Patria High {Marius}

The building is far larger than he had been expecting, and to be honest, knowing his Grandfather as he did, he had been expecting that it would be large. This place however transcends large, large becomes miniscule in the face of it. It is vast; more a palace than a school. There are four stories going up, tens of rooms across in both directions, and there also seems to be rather a lot of totally unnecessary Grecian styled architecture lining the entrance. He stands at the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the front door, steps that are framed by an elaborate stone baluster handrail.

All in all it is rather intimidating to say the least, and he almost wishes that his aunt or Grandfather had seen fit to walk him in, rather than dropping him with little ceremony in the car park; with no words except to remind him to study hard and not embarrass them. It’s really only the knowledge that they would be twittering in his ears about how wonderful the place looks, that triumphs over his desire to have someone here to walk him in. It’s not as if this is his first time entering a new school, but he can’t say any of the previous schools, - the ones his father had picked out for him - had any of the same over the top grandeur as this building.

He hates it on sight. He even hates the name, who names a school ‘Patria High’ anyway. Really, how much more pretentious could you get? He’s sure that his Grandfather chose this place on purpose, determined to show off or to throw his grandson off kilter. He allows his anger to churn away in his stomach for a while, giving over to it in order to overcome the fear of walking up the stairs in front of him and through the doors alone.

A bell sounds suddenly through the silence outside, and he jumps so violently that his satchel slips of his shoulder and falls to the ground with a thump. With a low curse, and holding one hand to his heart in shock, he bends down to pick it up and, blushing profusely despite there being no witness to his stupidity, he makes a start up the steps.

If he had hoped that the building was compensating for something on the outside, he was sorely mistaken. The interior of the school, it turns out, is just as intimidating as its exterior. Complete with wood panelling for walls, white marble floors and portraits all along the first corridor; each has a little placard underneath giving the figures an identity and linking them to the school. Marius doesn’t have any inclination to read them, but even if he did wish to, he did not receive the opportunity. The bell that had very nearly caused him a heart attack, just moments ago, had signalled the first break of the day and within seconds of his stepping through the front doors the corridor has gone from deserted to pure chaos. There are bodies everywhere. Laughing, shouting, pushing and shoving their way out of the school, almost as if they had been locked away for years and not just for a couple of hours. If he were able to find his voice, he might have been able to ask someone for directions to the main office, but he finds himself quite overwhelmed by the sheer volume of people, and instead goes with his first instinct, which is to throw himself against a wall to avoid getting knocked over.

“Are you okay?” A voice chirps from nearby, and he looks up; his eyes widening suddenly in surprise.

It’s an angel.

It must be. An angel sent from on high to help guide him out of this hell with a warm smile and a musical voice. Several seconds follow this first encounter with heaven, and in that time the stampede of students has slowed somewhat. Marius doesn’t say a word, simply stares; his mouth hanging ever so slightly open until this blessed being speaks again.

“You... look a little lost. Are you new? What’s your name?”

He blinks, and then does it again, just to be sure he’s not hallucinating or dreaming, but this vision doesn’t disappear. Sunlight is pouring through the open front doors and illuminates the face of his saviour; she is all long blonde curls and dark eyelashes over sparkling sea green eyes and pale but flawless skin. A voice at the back of his head is trying desperately to remind him that generally angels don’t just appear in school hallways, and so it’s more likely that this is a student and she’s waiting for an answer to her question and, goddamn it, get it together Marius, say something! Unfortunately Marius has never been much better at speaking to girls than he is at speaking to deities; and so he simply stands there, eyes wide and startled, mouth opening and closing rather like a goldfish, while his angel’s expression changes from open and smiling, to confused, to slightly concerned.

Another girl’s face appears beside hers, “Think he’s a bit...” she pulls a face, and makes a twirling movement with her hand that Marius doesn’t really understand. The angel must – he should probably stop calling her that, but he doesn’t know her name – because she frowns disapprovingly at her friend and waves her off.

“Don’t do that,” She says, “I think he’s just shy...”

She rearranges her expression again, giving him a kind smile. One she obviously thinks will put him more at ease but which, unfortunately, only serves to push him over the borders of attraction and awe and face first into the even more perilous province of love. She may speak again, but her voice is being drowned out by the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.  
Her friend looks at him in annoyance and tugs at her arm, causing her eyes to leave him and giving him a moments respite to calm himself.

“Hey, listen!” he jumps slightly, and glances at the second girl, she points off to her left, “The reception office is down that corridor, take a right, second door on your right, can’t miss it. Got that?” he swallows, and willing himself not to make a further fool of himself he manages a small nod of understanding. There’s a loud ‘Well, thank God for that’ and then both girls are gone.

He glances after them, and catches one last glimpse of his angel looking back at him as she is dragged away. She disappears through the double doors and he is left standing in a, once again, empty corridor.

* * *

 

It takes him a full minute to come back to his senses, realising suddenly that he should make his move for the school’s reception before the halls become flooded again; he stumbles slightly as he pushes away from the wall. Thankfully, despite his encounter, he has at least managed to retain the information he received and heads down the corridor, takes a right and soon finds himself outside a door that was probably once simply labelled ‘reception’; someone has taken a black marker to it and remodelled the ‘r’ into a ‘d’. He doesn’t dwell on that, but pushes the door open and steps inside.

A large, terrifying looking woman in her mid-forties is sat behind the desk in the room, tapping away dutifully at a computer and not even deigning to look up at the intruder to her office. He wonders if maybe he should have knocked first; he does so, if only because he’s still working on getting his voice back. He gets her attention, but only insofar as her raising one hand in a ‘just one minute’ gesture, while her other continues to skim across the keyboard; though now he looks, it doesn’t actually look like she’s pressing the keys down at all. He closes the door gently behind him while he waits; the only sound in the room is the clacking of the woman’s long nails – fake, he notes – on the keyboard. Eventually she glances up, and actually seems vaguely surprised to see that he’s still standing there; he wonders if she had hoped he might just go away if she ignored him long enough.

“Um,” he manages, happy to find he’s still capable of speech, “I uh...” if not eloquent speech. She glares at him, as if he’s been incredibly rude in disturbing her.

“Sorry,” he says, not quite sure why he’s apologising, he was explicitly told to report to the reception office on his arrival at the school, “I was told to collect my timetable and uh, some other things, from here, I’m new you see,”

“Sit!” The command is barked out and he scurries forward to take a seat in the leather chair that faces the desk. “Name?”

“Marius Pontmercy,” he replies quickly, wanting to get this all over with as fast as possible. She clacks away at her computer, for real this time, for a few seconds and then glares at him again.

“There’s nobody named Pontmercy on our records,”

For a few seconds he simply sits and stares at her in disbelief. He’s at a loss, going over the hundred and one letters and forms he has had to read and fill in, in order to gain entry to this school. The date of his first day has been seared onto his mind, and the little paper calendar on the desk infront of him confirms that he hasn’t made a mistake. His Grandfather had announced his acceptance with such a level of pomp and circumstance that he would surely not have just dropped him here alone if there had been some kind of a problem. He would have spent hours on the phone, or marched himself into the school to ensure his grandson’s admittance. He can just imagine it, and as he does so, he imagines something else entirely.

For a moment he thinks it ridiculous, that even his Grandfather wouldn’t do such a thing, but the more the thought goes around in his head, the more likely it starts to seem, until he looks up at the receptionist – his eyes stormy and his cheeks slightly red with suppressed anger – and says “Try Marius Gillenormand.”

She goes back to her computer, looking unconvinced, but sure enough a few seconds of tapping later and a look of surprise crosses her face. Marius sits silently furious as his suspicions are confirmed, and he resolves to have it out with his Grandfather and his aunt the moment he returns home. Home? The thought almost makes him laugh out loud. He will never call that place home; with any luck he won’t have to call it anything soon enough. The woman behind the desk looks almost as annoyed as him at this development, and starts rooting around in her desk drawers with the air of someone who had hoped to pass the day doing as little as possible. She slams a collection of papers onto the desk.

“Introduction pack, timetable, orientation sheet, map of campus, if you have a problem guidance counsellor is in room 4B12, get out!” he barely even notices her blatant rudeness, simply reaches forward and grabs the papers from the table top as he stands, he throws a thoughtless ‘Thanks’ over his shoulder as he wrenches the office door open and prepares to storm down the hallway.

He is prevented however by a cheerful smile on a slightly rounded face and a loud “Marius I presume! Lord you look ready to murder someone,”

It’s a boy, probably the same age as Marius, and he glances over Marius’ shoulder to look into the office, “Not lost your touch then Murielle?” he shouts, and the woman in the office barks at him to shut up and close her door so that she can get on with her work. The new arrival reaches past Marius to drag the door closed with a final wink to its occupant. As it clicks back into place there’s a thud that makes Marius jump, and he suspects the woman may have thrown something at the door; not for the first time that day he wonders how on earth he ended up in this mad house of a school.

“She’s a charmer huh?” the boy says, still grinning widely, “Work my ass, I don’t know what she does in there all day but it’s certainly not work. At least she gave you your stuff,” he makes a grab for the large stack of papers in Marius’ hands and proceeds to flick through them, listing each thing off. Marius is still too surprised by his sudden appearance and lack of introduction to do anything about it. “And a map… Not that you need it, since you’ll have me.” He continues, “The Headmaster thought it best to send you a guide, I told him he’d be better sending ‘Ferre but apparently he’s running some workshop or other in the library, which is typical, so here I am,” he gives a small bow as they walk; at some point during this little running commentary, the boy – whose name Marius still did not know – had begun guiding him down the corridor and further into the depths of the school. Marius glances back over his shoulder and finds he can no longer see the reception, and is therefore, once again, hopelessly at a loss as to his location.

“Sorry I was a bit late, I was meant to meet you outside the school and show you to the reception, but I got talking to Alice Laurent and... well you’ll understand when you see her I promise… anyway I was halfway off campus before I remembered I was supposed to meet you, but seems you found old Thenardier’s lair by yourself okay, so really there’s no harm done right? Well, excepting some minor psychological trauma, but you’ll get over it; what did she say to you to get you so riled up anyway?”

“Actually she didn’t...” he begins, but stops himself. He doesn’t know this guy, and he’s not entirely sure that he’s ready to explain his ridiculous family issues to someone who almost completely forgot about coming to meet him because he was following a pretty girl; the pause however, causes his companion to stare expectantly at him, “She uh, didn’t even say anything much, barely even looked at me actually, just gave me these” he gestures at the papers that are no longer in his possession “and uh, told me to get out. She didn’t seem like much of a receptionist, how does she keep her job anyway?” He adds the question, hoping to steer the conversation away slightly.

“Nobody really knows,” the boy replies, taking the bait, and handing back the stack of paper; Marius clutches at it like a lifeline. “But her husband works here too, as a caretaker. He’s as bad as her; worse actually. I’m pretty sure the bastard nicked my watch last week, but I can’t prove it. Their kids go here too, which is weird because they’re sure as hell not rich enough to pay the fees, and Eponine, she’s the eldest, in half my classes, she’s not stupid – street smart as hell actually – but she sure isn’t a scholarship student either. The working theory amongst the general populace is that _he’s_ got something really dirty on the Head and that giving them places at the school is how he’s keeping them quiet,” He says ‘he’ leaving no doubt that Mr Thenardier is the one behind their circumstances; it has a sort of ominous tone behind it and Marius is left half hoping to never meet the man, and half curious as to what he must be like.

“Right!” The boy catches his arm to stop him, they are standing beside a door with no label on it whatsoever, “Here we are,” he sweeps his arm at the door with another of his slight bows, “After you then,” Marius gives him a curious look, fairly certain that he’s meant to be finding his first classroom right now and that this is not it.

“Where are we?” he asks.

The boy gives him a grin, mischief dancing in his eyes, “Just the headquarters of a little secret society,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant but failing quite spectacularly.

“If it’s a secret, why are you showing me?” says Marius, confused and just a little concerned about what he might find on the other side of the door.

“I like you, and I’m a good judge of character,” comes the easy reply.

A slightly disturbing thought strikes Marius at this vague set of responses. “This isn’t a hazing is it?” he asks quickly, glancing nervously at the door. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’s been put through his paces as a new student, but he’s never been invited to walk directly into anything of his own free will before. He receives a laugh in response. “Not a hazing I swear,” is the reply, complete with a ‘scout’s honour’ hand gesture, “Though I can’t promise you won’t get one at some point.”

“That makes me feel so much better, thanks,” Marius deadpans, still gazing at the door. Somebody inside must have said something amusing, because a loud shout of laughter is heard at that moment.  
“There’s a few of us who were transfer students, me included actually.” His guide continues, “I walked around for a week with various instructions for others on my back; I’ve never been so bruised in my life. So I promise, if there’s a hazing to be had, it won’t be from us,”

“And I should trust your word on that why exactly?” he asks, finally looking back at the boy beside him, “I don’t even know your name,”

If he were being entirely truthful, he would admit that for some strange reason he actually does believe this smiling, energetic boy when he promises no harm will come to him. There’s something genuine, honest and likable in his manner and in the way he talks; he can’t quite put his finger on it, but it’s there nevertheless. However, Marius has been thrown off balance several times already today, and he rather thinks it is somebody else’s turn to feel a bit of a fool.

He isn’t disappointed. The guy blinks, and looks thoughtful for a moment, and Marius smiles slightly as he realises he must be running back over their whole conversation up to this point in his head. He gets there eventually, and slaps a hand to his forehead dramatically, laughing loudly.

 “Oh God, I’ve literally not done anything right today have I?” He says, still chuckling he holds his hand out to shake, “Courfeyrac, Émile de Courfeyrac to be precise but I don’t go by my first name. Bleugh,”  
Marius takes his hand, “Marius Pontmercy,” he says, with a full smile now. Courfeyrac looks confused at this introduction, and Marius groans inwardly as he realises why, even before...  
“Pontmercy?” Marius gets the feeling that he’s going to be correcting people on this score for a while.

“There was, a slight mix up... my Grandfather, my guardian, is named Gillenormand, but my father’s name was Pontmercy, and, well I prefer it anyway,” he doesn’t mention that the ‘slight mix up’ was more than likely a completely intentional change made by his Grandfather. He wonders just how much trouble it’s going to cause him to get it all sorted out. Courfeyrac looks as though he might have realised there is more to the story, but has the courtesy not to ask any further and instead grasps his arm and leads him firmly to the door.

“Well, Monsieur Pontmercy,” he says, pushing it open with a flourish and guiding Marius through, “Welcome to the headquarters of The Friends of the ABC,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few things:  
> 1) I am aware that there is already a great 10TIHAY fic out there. However, firstly I am much of the opinion that one can never have too many adaptations of adaptations of Shakespeare, and secondly I've been writing this since February and I love it too much to let it go. I haven't read the other in its entirety, but what I have read is very different to this fic, so hopefully there will be no issues.
> 
> 2) So, this is basically what happens when I am left alone with my brain for too long. Essentially, I was watching 10 Things I Hate About You (because Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles duh) and as Cameron first sees Bianca and exclaims ‘I Burn, I Pine, I Perish’ I just couldn’t stop the image of Marius seeing Cosette for the first time... and then the similarity in appearance of movie!Cosette and Enjolras became a thing, and then Kat Stratford being really opinionated and Jean Valjean being overprotective, and the idea of all the Amis banding behind Marius to get Enjolras on a date for the lols and Grantaire trying to ‘woo’ was just too hilarious (to my admittedly lonely and slightly addled mind) to pass up and so BOOM. This was born.
> 
> I can only apologise profusely, to you, to Victor Hugo and to the literary world in general.
> 
> 3) The story is set out to follow a similar sort of layout to the film, keeping at least reasonably true to some of the main plot points, though obviously there are a lot of differences in the story itself. Meaning that the first few chapters will more closely follow Marius and Cosette, and then turn more Enjolras and Grantaire!centric as time goes on. Though they will be around and about throughout. 
> 
> 4) I already have 8 chapters completed, and two more each about halfway done, and will be posting them at regular intervals. The reason for this being I am the worst person in the world at updating fic, and it's better for me to have a large stock of chapters with which to buy myself more time before posting the first one :P.
> 
> 5) Do not ask or try to guess where this fic is set. It's not really important and honestly I have no clue myself. Initially I thought maybe somewhere in Canada, but I don't know. I have basically made up a school system, in an imaginary town in an unspecified country. Please go nuts deciding for yourself where they live.


	2. In Which We Meet The Friends of the ABC {Marius}

It’s a cupboard.

Well, it’s not _actually_ a cupboard, but Marius thinks that it was definitely a storage room of some kind in a previous life. It’s certainly not large enough to have ever been a classroom or an office, and what else would it be in a school? There’s one small window high on the wall to let in some natural light, and as for furnishings, it has just a bookcase tucked into a corner, a small table and a few chairs squashed into the tiny space. A few of the chairs are occupied, and Courfeyrac greets his friends as he shuts the door behind him. Marius is rather glad he doesn’t have a problem with small spaces.  
“It’s not much,” Courfeyrac says with a smile, “But it _is_ home,”

Marius doesn’t say anything. All eyes in the room are suddenly on him and he can feel his palms starting to sweat under the attention. There are four boys in the room, excluding Courfeyrac and himself, two are sat close together, a large book infront of them, as if they had been in deep conversation about it just moments before this interruption. One is sat cross legged on top of the table, several folded paper fans scattered in front of him. The last is sat on the floor, leaning against the legs of the table despite there being an empty chair right next to him; he has a marker pen in one hand, and scribbles that might be writing across his other arm.

“Friends!” Courfeyrac clearly has a flair for the dramatic, as he sweeps his arms out, one going to clap Marius across the shoulders; one of the boys at the table murmurs something to the other, who sniggers slightly. Courfeyrac ignores them.

 “I would like to introduce you to Marius Pontmercy, transfer student and my new best friend,”  
The boy on the floor gives a faux affronted cry and pouts, but there’s a smile hidden beneath it and Courfeyrac grins down at him. “Sorry Prouvaire, I’m a magpie, you know I can’t resist something new and shiny,”  
The boy shrugs his shoulders lightly before going back to writing on his arm, “That’s fine, a little abandonment was only ever good for a poets inspiration,” his voice starts soft and sad, and Marius has visions of fields of flowers at the end of summer, but as he continues it takes on a slight edge, “And I have already gathered many a tale from you with which to amaze Ms Burgon in creative writing. I hardly have need of you anymore, but rest assured I won’t forget to credit you as my source,”  
Courfeyrac is gone from Marius’ side, and is on the floor at this boy’s instead, within seconds, “I take it all back! I will never stray again, forgive me Jehan?”

‘Jehan’ seems to pretend to ponder this for a minute, but the expression on Courfeyrac’s face would gain him forgiveness for just about anything; and Marius suspects that it probably has, on more than one occasion. He can’t help but wonder what tales this Jehan could tell of his friend’s misadventures, but he suspects some might turn his ears red. As suspected, the pondering doesn’t last for very long at all, and Jehan forgives his friend with a simple smile, though he never looks away from his arm; the writing seems to be getting smaller and smaller as he nears his rolled up sleeves. Courfeyrac doesn’t get up again, but rather settles himself more comfortably beside Jehan, turning to face Marius again.

“So not everyone’s here,” and Marius takes the moment’s pause to wonder how many more people actually fit inside this tiny space. He himself was standing almost with his back against the door, and Courfeyrac and Jehan’s stretched out legs reached just an inch from his feet. The chairs that were unoccupied had just barely enough room between them and the wall to be comfortably pulled out, and it would take maybe two (small) steps to reach the bookcase. “But I’ll run introductions anyway, because why the heck not,” he continues with a grin, “Here we have Jehan, real name: Jean Prouvaire. He’s going to be poet laureate someday if we can ever get him to write on blank bits of paper or a computer so he can actually be published,” as he says all this he starts playfully poking the boy in his now poetry filled arm, Jehan takes a moment to look sheepish, before eyeing Courfeyrac’s prodding fingers and making a grab for them. Now with one arm trapped in the hands of his friend and with a pen running steadily over his skin, he uses the other to point up to the boy on the table, “The fan-boy is Feuilly,”

“In more ways than one,” laughs one of the boys in the seat, and the others, including Feuilly himself, join in. Courfeyrac points at him next.

“The unlucky baldy over there is Lesgle, we mostly call him Bossuet,” It’s a slightly unfair assessment of ‘Bossuet’s appearance, and Marius feels the “Hey!” however much good humour it is delivered with, is in fact justified. Truthfully he does show signs of the beginnings of a receding hairline, but he wears it well, and has a face so full of life that the condition of his hair is hardly noticeable unless pointed out. Marius decides almost immediately that he likes him. “Don’t let him near anything sharp, or hot, or even vaguely dangerous in anyway,” Courfeyrac continues after sticking his tongue out in response to the exclamation, “He’ll probably only hurt himself, but it’s best to play safe and just not let him get involved,” Marius half expects another protest, but glances over in time to see him simply shrug his shoulders with an air of ‘what can I say, it’s true’. “The guy next to him is Joly, just... don’t cough or sneeze on him, or be generally ill around him,” Joly offers him a short little wave and a kind sort of smile, which he returns nervously.

“I’m not sure what they’re doing,” Courfeyrac says, “Probably diagnosing Joly’s latest illness,”  
“We’re reading the dictionary,” says Bossuet, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world for two seventeen or eighteen year old boys to be doing during their mid-morning break. Apparently Courfeyrac is on the same page as Marius on this one – a small mercy – and he voices his confusion loudly.  
“Combeferre has taken to making annotations, corrections and additions,” Joly offers in explanation, and while this seems to be a sufficient explanation for Courfeyrac, it leaves Marius even more amazed and puzzled by this strange collection of students.

“We’ve taken to adding a running commentary on what we think of his behaviour, for him to find later,” Bossuet adds with a mischievous grin, taking up the pen beside the dictionary and adding a notation underneath the small but precise script that Marius can just make out already on the page.  
“Don’t forget to mention how he’s ‘defacing public property and disrespecting the written English word in literally _all_ its forms’” Joly sends Courfeyrac a raised eyebrow at that, though it goes unseen, Jehan has started writing on the side of his neck, so he’s facing away from the table.  
“What do you think we wrote as our alternate title?” he asks, just to ensure the message is received.  
“Ah, I suppose I should have known you would have thought of that already,”  
“You _have_ no original thoughts Courfeyrac,” chirps Feuilly, aiming a paper aeroplane at the boys thick black curls; it finds its target easily, causing Courfeyrac to jump, and Jehan’s hand to slip, leaving a long black line running down his neck.

 He stares at it for a moment before saying softly “It’s rather fitting actually,” and he caps the pen and leans away again. Courfeyrac takes the opportunity to start reading his arm. Marius can’t make out the scrawl from where he’s stood, but a closer and more practised eye apparently has more luck, and Courfeyrac is grinning again by the time he finishes. “Nice,” he says, nodding his approval at Jehan, who beams with pride.

A loud ringing noise breaks through the momentary silence, and Marius jumps slightly. He curses himself for being overly skittish, but nobody else in the room seems to notice, as they have all turned their attention to Feuilly. He pulls his phone from his pocket and slides a finger across the screen before bursting out laughing. A chorus of ‘What?’ goes around the room, and Marius gets the distinct impression that there isn’t a great deal of privacy between these boys. He’s not really sure what he thinks of that, but Feuilly seems all too happy to share the details of his text message with the group.

“Old Thenardier just chased Bahorel from his office and through East Wing with, and get this,” He pauses a moment for dramatic effect, “An _actual_ pitchfork,”

Shouts of laughter, and a whoop from near the floor, ring out through the room, and it’s becoming very clear that this is less a secret society and more a steadfastly ignored one, because there is no way they can make this kind of noise all the time and not be noticed by some member of staff or other. It takes a few moments of pondering this for Marius to catch up with what has actually been said, and rather than finding it funny he is horrified at the idea of this already daunting figure of a caretaker chasing a student with a pitchfork, and any number of other things, and still managing to retain his job. He can’t help but wonder, as no doubt all the students do, what exactly he could possibly have on the poor headmaster.

“What. On earth. Was he doing messing around near Thenardier’s office in the first place?” Courfeyrac is almost crying with laughter as he chokes this out. Joly, who had recovered fastest, and had set about taking deep calming breaths, is the one to answer him.

“Enjolras asked him to put some posters up there,”

“Actually he asked us all to put posters up there,” Adds Bossuet a moment later, voice trembling slightly as he suppresses a new bout of giggles, “But none of us were brave enough, so Bahorel went alone,”  
“A stalwart, steadfast hero,” cries Courfeyrac, clutching his hands to his chest, “He shall live forever in our memories and in our hearts,” he lapses once more into laughter, and Jehan swats at his head as a reprimand.

“He hasn’t died yet,” he says lightly, but the laughter fills the room for several minutes any way.

When Courfeyrac has himself under control once more, he looks around the room and says, “That reminds me, where is our courageous leader today, it’s not like _him_ to miss a meeting,”  
Feuilly sighs, leaning back on his hands. “He got into another row with The King,”

Courfeyrac’s response to that is to let out a long suffering groan and curl into an almost fetal position on the floor, with his head in his hands. Marius’ is to very suddenly and very loudly speak up for the first time since entering the room. “Who’s The King?” he asks. Four bodies jump, and four heads – not including Courfeyrac’s – swivel to look at him as if they had completely forgotten that he was still there. Marius turns beet red again.

“Sorry,” he says, unsure why he’s apologising, “I just... I’m new so... I don’t,” he takes a deep breath to try and calm his nerves, but it’s unnecessary. Courfeyrac has apparently understood, and he uncurls himself from his strange position on the floor to answer.

“Mr Phillips. He’s the deputy head,” he says, “Well, in name anyway. Everyone knows he practically runs this school by now,”

“He’s the strictest teacher here,” adds Feuilly, and the other boys nod in agreement.  
“Brings new meaning to ‘iron fist’ you mean,” Bossuet says with a small laugh.  
“There’s a rumour that he’s related to an illegitimate line of the d’Orleans, the family of Louis-Phillipe, last king of France, so everyone calls him The King,” finishes Courfeyrac. Marius thinks that this school gets stranger and more complicated by the minute, and when he’s finished railing out his Grandfather for his stunt with his surname later, he’s going to thank him very sarcastically for finding the most ridiculous school in the country for him to attend.

 “Or The Tyrant, if you’re Enjolras,” says Feuilly.

“And many other names besides, none of which should be said in polite company,” adds Joly with a grin, causing Courfeyrac to snort loudly.

“So, how much has been added to his, not inconsiderable, sentence this time?” He asks; stretching out fully on the floor, so that half of his body is under the table, and tucking his hands behind his head.  
“None technically, but he has to see the guidance counsellor at morning break, twice a week,” Jehan answers, “I think they must have run out of weeks to put him in detention. Either that, or they’ve realised it just isn’t working, and they’re fed up with putting up with him after school,”  
“Is he that bad?” Marius asks, having finally regained his courage. He’s not sure what to make of this mysterious, absent leader; it’s difficult to imagine these boys being led by some kind of delinquent. Sure they seem a little odd, and the whole ‘secret (but actually not) society’ thing is a little suspicious, but they seem, on the whole, a friendly and rather charming gathering, if a little daunting when they’re all staring at him in unison; as they are right now.

Silence reigns throughout the room and the expressions on their faces tell Marius that that was not the correct thing to ask in present company. Joly looks entirely confused, for the first time Bossuet is not smiling widely, Feuilly is looking at him as if he spontaneously grew another head, Jehan looks – frankly – offended on their leaders behalf, and Courfeyrac has raised himself back up onto his elbows, matching Joly in confusion. Marius swallows, but holds his nerve this time, he can hardly be blamed for being curious about this boy who sends his friends to get chased by pitchfork wielding maniacs and spends every week in detention and is apparently the bane of this ‘King’ fellows existence and who now has to see a guidance counsellor every week. He tells them so, and waits a few moments in uncomfortable silence until Courfeyrac bursts out laughing, again. Bossuet follows him soon after, and the other three, while not quite so amused, do relax and stop staring at him like he’s something that crawled out from a crack in the wall.

It’s then that a bell chimes loudly; signalling the beginning of lessons is nigh, and Marius still has no clue what’s so funny, or, more importantly where his first class is going to be. The boys begin to get up and start gathering their things, Courfeyrac and Bossuet still chortling to themselves over whatever unknowably hilarious thing Marius had accidentally said. Courfeyrac stands and ruffles Jehan’s hair before moving forward to grasp Marius by the arm.

“Come on, we’ve got Math together, I saw it on your timetable,” he says, turning Marius towards the door and throwing a farewell over his shoulder at his friends as he leads them both out into the corridor.

“So, what do you think?” asks Courfeyrac once they’re a few corridors away from the room, being bustled along by the hoards of students piling back into the school. It’s not a question that Marius knows how to answer.

“I think...” He throws a slightly apologetic look to his guide, “I think I have no clue what just happened.”  
The boy beside him smiles and claps him on the shoulder, “Yeah sorry about that, it wasn’t exactly a typical meeting, things tend to fall apart a bit without Enjolras or Combeferre to keep everyone in line,”  
“What is typical?” Marius asks, “What’s with the posters and getting sent to the school counsellor?”  
“We’re sort of a political group,” Courfeyrac laughs at Marius’ raised eyebrow. They hardly seem his idea of student activists. “Yeah I know, hard to believe right?” he continues, “It was Enjolras who started it all, and the rest of us sort of got swept up into it, but...” he trailed off for a moment, seeming deep in thought, after a moment he shook his head and carried on, “Well, we all believe in the same things, freedom, equality, all that jazz, and we organise events and protests in the city and ‘Ferre and Jehan write for the school newspaper, we hand out flyers and put posters around the school... that sort of thing. It’s actually a lot more organised than that must have seemed, but hey, we’re best friends as well as revolutionaries, so sometimes we goof off. It’s not like we wouldn’t have to have the meeting all over again once Enjolras gets out of prison. He likes to be at the forefront of things,” he finishes with a fond smile.

For his part, Marius is finding it very hard to believe that the group he just met could be a part of something so serious. He supposes it must really have to do with this ‘Enjolras’ guy, and he finds himself even less eager to meet him.

“So Enjolras,” he starts carefully, curious to figure out what it is about this boy that makes the others so keen to follow him into trouble, “What’s up with him anyway? I mean, okay you guys are political, so are a lot of people but they don’t all get thrown in detention every week,”  
“There’s nothing up with him exactly,” says Courfeyrac, stopping in his tracks and pulling on Marius arm so he doesn’t wonder off without him, he twists the dial on his locker to open it. Marius is giving him an unconvinced look.

“No, really, he’s fine... a little... he can be a bit intense sometimes is all. He’s just very opinionated,” he pulls some books from the locker, and closes it, and Marius is still not looking convinced as they head back off again.

“Very _openly_ opinionated,” He tries again, “Like. Okay. Two weeks ago he was sent out of Lit, for refusing to do the required reading. I mean, every book in it was written by a straight white guy. He argued that when the school brought in a syllabus that included writers from different ethnic and gender backgrounds, he’ll do the reading for it,”

“And this is a regular thing?”

“Oh yeah. Hey!” Courfeyrac’s entire person suddenly seems to bubble with excitement, his eyes lit up and there was an added bounce to his step, “Last month he instigated a coup in the cafeteria. We built a barricade out of the tables and chairs... it was awesome!”  
Marius thinks his horrified look is probably not what Courfeyrac had expected in response, but this all seemed to be getting worse and worse.

“What exactly does he have against lunch?” he asks, entirely lost.

“Sourcing,” Courfeyrac replies immediately, “The school refused to acknowledge the petition we sent around, asking them to start using more fair trade and free range companies, even though we got over half the school to sign it. Combeferre had a meeting with the King to get him to take proper notice of it, but he didn’t listen. Anyway in the end it was the only way to get them to take us seriously,”  
Throughout this little speech, Courfeyrac has lost the bounce in his walk, his tone has turned harder and he has become entirely more serious than Marius could have ever imagined him being. If nothing else, it does show him that this little group isn’t being led forcibly into these mad situations by this Enjolras character. It is suddenly very clear to Marius, by seeing the fire burning softly in Courfeyrac’s eyes that he too was furious about the schools lack of response.  
“So!” he says, brightening up again, “We were barricaded in the cafeteria for three hours, but then Feuilly threw a tomato over the top and it hit Phillips, and that’s when campus security got involved. Most of us got away with a week’s worth of detention, but Enjolras took the blame for throwing the food, and got an in-school suspension. Had to spend the whole week with Phillips’ secretary.” He shudders, “But, a week later, the head announced that they were looking into more ethical companies to buy in school meal ingredients. He’d called ‘Ferre into his office specifically, and apparently he’d never even got to see the petition, so the detention was totally worth it,”

For his part, Marius thinks they were all damned lucky that they hadn’t been expelled, and he tells Courfeyrac so.

“Nah, we’re not that bad most of the time, and they won’t expel Enjolras, he’s too good for their academic image. He runs the debate club and they’ve won almost every competition they’ve gone in for, and he basically gets a hundred percent on every test he takes... Plus his grandfather is the mayor; it wouldn’t be worth the hassle even if they _wanted_ to kick him out,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.

Marius is still trying to process all this new information as they reach their destination, just as the second bell sounds.

“So,” says Courfeyrac as they take two seats, right at the back of the classroom, “Think you’re going to come back again?”

“Uh,” Is Marius’ eloquent response, and his hesitation gets him a laugh from his new friend. He really doesn’t want to disappoint. He likes Courfeyrac and, from what he’s seen of them individually the ‘Friends’ seem, well, friendly enough; but he can’t help but feel all this activism isn’t really for him. Being new to the school as well, he’s not sure he wants to draw the kind of attention to himself that this mini group of student ‘revolutionaries’ seem bent on attracting.

“Think about it,” says Courfeyrac, when it becomes clear Marius has no answer at present. “We promise not to get you expelled if you do,” he adds with a wink.

Marius only nods in response. At that moment their teacher finally walks through the door, and all thoughts of whether or not he’ll be joining the little society are pushed out of his head to make room for the fear of having to stand up in front of the class and go through the ‘new boy’ motions for the ninth time in his life.

 It really never gets any less awkward.


	3. In Which We See the Beginnings of a Plan {Marius}

Nobody throws anything at him as he stands there, which is always a relief, and he briefly tells them who he is and about the last place he lived; he doesn’t talk about his father, though he does correct his name. With the insane morning he has already had, he expected something a lot worse, but mostly everyone else in the class except their teacher, and Courfeyrac, just tune him out; which Marius is grateful for. The rest of the lesson goes by and is much the same as Math lessons everywhere. That is to say, slow, and filled with combinations of numbers that only occasionally make sense. He spends most of it silently making notes, with Courfeyrac hissing in his ear about his new classmates.

  _“That’s Celine Martin, she was head cheerleader last year, but she got caught stealing material from another troupe and they kicked her out. Over there’s Greg Tudor, there’s a rumour going around that his dad is having an affair with the librarian. Up at the front on the left, that’s Charlotte Piers, she’ll tell anyone who’ll listen about this time last year she found a dead guy in the parking lot...”_

That had grabbed Marius’ attention for a moment.

_“Don’t look so horrified, there was nothing in the papers or anything, it was probably just some passed out drunk, she’s super naive; she probably couldn’t tell the difference.”_

It seems to Marius that almost every person in this class has some mad personal story or other, somehow inexplicably known to Courfeyrac, and probably by extension the rest of the ABC boys. He supposes many of them might not be true, but with everything he’s seen and heard so far within these walls, he’s willing to bet there’s probably at least something to each of them.

Courfeyrac leaves him at his next class – World History – with a promise to collect him afterwards, and Marius can only hope that Anna, or was it Lucy? Alicia? Well, whatever it was that girl was called, the one he was caught up with that morning, doesn’t distract him again. He can’t say he holds out too much hope as he slumps into the only free seat in the room and prays he doesn’t have to make yet another speech. The girl next to him leans over to ask if he’s new, and does he want to share her textbook and the way she smiles, he thinks she might be flirting with him; he blushes deeply, nods his head to the first question, but digs into his bag to receive his own textbook. She lingers a little while longer before leaning away again, from the corner of his eye he sees the girl behind her poke her in the shoulder, teasing.

He somehow gets away with only having to stand briefly as his teacher introduces the new student to the class, though he does have to correct his surname again. He gets some confused looks, but nobody makes a big deal about it, and the teacher scratches something onto the register, leaving Marius to hope this will mean the whole thing might be sorted out internally and with very little effort. When he sits back down again, he can’t help but notice the girl next to him has edged closer again. “So you’re Mr Gillenormand’s mysterious grandson,” she whispers, and Marius wonders just how many people were already aware of his existence before he arrived at the school. He simply nods at her again, and that, thankfully, is when the lesson starts in earnest and he is spared having to communicate any further; this time however, she doesn’t move away again.

 

They’re about halfway through the hour when the shouting starts. It doesn’t come from within their classroom, but it’s loud enough that it disturbs them. A few people look up and around at the back wall with resigned expressions, their teacher stops mid-stream as she realises that she has lost their attention, she too looks at the back wall. Marius can’t help but think that behind the irritation at having her lesson interrupted, there is a touch of relief in her eyes; as if she is glad to be interrupted in _this_ manner, as opposed to the manner in which next door’s lesson has been. The shouting continues for a couple of minutes, there’s a loud scrape as if someone opened a window, a pause, a distant ‘thunk’ and then very clearly the words “Counsellor’s office. Now!” are shouted in an enraged tone. A few more seconds pass and then the door to the next classroom is opened and slammed shut, there’s the sound of footsteps going past their room, and everyone’s eyes follow the sound until it fades away. When it does, their teacher clears her throat loudly, and everyone’s attention snaps back. The rest of the lesson continues as if nothing unusual has happened, and Marius has the distinct impression that nothing ‘unusual’ _has_ happened; he also has a feeling that he already knows who’s footsteps just passed by their classroom.

* * *

 

In the end, Courfeyrac doesn’t disappoint him; he is already standing outside the room as Marius leaves. The girl Marius had been sat next to breezes past and offers them both a smile, which Marius resolutely ignores and Courfeyrac returns with enthusiasm. By the end of the lesson he had found himself almost shoulder to shoulder with her, he’s fairly sure her hand brushing his thigh that one time wasn’t an accident as she claimed, and she kept asking him questions about the strangest things. Like his Grandfather’s health. He had kept his answers short, and tried to focus solely on what was happening in the lesson and not turning completely red.

“I see you’ve met Alice,” Courfeyrac says, turning the smile on Marius as she disappears around a corner. Marius has a fleeting thought of ‘Alice! That was the name!’ before rolling his eyes at his new friend.

“Yeah, she seems nice,” he lies, “Friendly,” he adds, and Courfeyrac laughs.

“You’ve no idea mate,” he says happily, clapping Marius on the shoulder as they start off towards the dining hall; and Marius thinks he has a very good idea actually, but he doesn’t really want to talk about it. Instead he recounts the events of the class, and his suspicions that the leader of their little group had been responsible. Courfeyrac grimaces slightly, but puts in that it’s very likely, as Enjolras’ classroom for last period is indeed the one next door to Marius’.

“Guess we’ll find out, Jehan has that class with him,” he says as they enter the hall and spot Jehan and the rest sat at one of the long wooden tables; including two others there that Marius doesn’t recognise. Neither looks particularly ‘leaderly’ to Marius’ eye, one is laughing loudly with Bossuet and Feuilly, between miming angrily brandishing something – Marius suspects a pitchfork - and the other is wiping his glasses and conversing quietly with Joly, sparing a small smile for his louder, more raucous friends, every few seconds.

Once they have food on their plates, they move to join them, Feuilly and Jehan parting in the middle in order to make room for them. Courfeyrac doesn’t even have to broach the subject, it seems Jehan had already done so in the seconds before they arrived at the table.  
“And what was it actually about?” Joly asks.

“Our textbook is ‘a bunch of imperialist sympathising bullshit’ to quote directly,” says Jehan, “I mean, he has a point of course but...” he trails off, poking slightly at his food.  
“And he actually threw it out of the window,” and Jehan nods, looking half concerned and half amused by the memory; and well, that would explain the noise of the window opening, Marius thinks to himself.

“He said something about it holding the weight of the oppressed as it fell,” Jehan continues softly, voice wobbling slightly as he represses a smile; Courfeyrac snorts out a laugh, as does one of the boys Marius doesn’t recognise; the mime.

“It’s all well and good to laugh.” Says the other boy Marius doesn’t know, looking at both boys with some disapproval, “But he really does need to start being more careful. Even his Grandfather’s position and his grades won’t stop them from expelling him if he actually hurts someone. Accident of circumstance or otherwise,”

 “You talk to him then ‘Ferre,” Jehan sighs, leaning sideways against Courfeyrac’s shoulder, “I told him not to do it but... he might actually listen to you,”

“I can’t quite believe he’s already back in the counsellor’s office,” says Courfeyrac, sounding half impressed, “I mean, an hour and a half, that has to be a record right?”

“I get the feeling they’re going to be intimate acquaintances by the end of the year,” puts in Feuilly.  
“Ms Simplice is good, but I give it a week before he makes her cry,” adds Joly, and Courfeyrac murmurs to Marius that Ms Simplice used to be a nun, but that she isn’t anymore and nobody really knows why. Yet another strange personage to add to the growing list at this school; and it’s still only day one.

“A week for her to smack him,” announces, by process of elimination and if Marius’ memory serves him correctly, Bahorel. “Simplice is made of sterner stuff than she seems. She won’t cry, but he’ll crack her,”

Bossuet nods along, “I’d put money on him still having a handprint on his face a week later,” he adds.  
“I still say he’ll make her cry,” Joly says, and then with a smirk, “He made Bahorel cry,”  
Marius is proven correct as Bahorel cries out that: “Hey, we don’t talk about that!”  
“He made you cry?” Marius asks, finding it hard to believe. Bahorel is loud and tall and sturdily built, and apparently unfazed by his misadventure with an angry caretaker and a pitchfork earlier that morning; it’s difficult to imagine him crying over anything. There is a moment of silence following his question, and a little of that awkwardness from the earlier meeting is starting to make itself known again as Bahorel asks, “Who the fuck is this?” but Bossuet sweeps quickly in.

“Marius Pontmercy, newbie. Don’t change the subject,” and Marius is partly surprised and impressed that Bossuet has remembered his name, a little peeved at being called ‘newbie’, and overall grateful to have the attention drawn back to Bahorel.

“I was having an off day,” the boy frowns.

“You were having an off day because Enjolras was railing on you for your ‘highly offensive’ t-shirt,” laughs Joly, nudging his shoulder and clearly enjoying himself immensely.

“Among other things,” is the grumbled response, “And I maintain it wasn’t that bad,”

“You haven’t worn it since though,” laughs Courfeyrac and Bahorel shoots him a half-hearted glare and murmurs a response that Marius can’t hear; but it makes Joly laugh loudly and shove his shoulder again. The conversation winds down from there, Marius is formerly introduced to Combeferre who smiles and shakes his hand across the table, and Bahorel who grunts and nods his greeting; Marius suspects he’s rather disappointed with his own first impression.

These boys talk about everything, somehow going from the state of the economy to how many cats it takes before you’re considered crazy – in Bossuet’s opinion the number itself hardly matters, but rather whether you treat it/them like humans. Joly concluded that five was probably pushing it. Courfeyrac and Feuilly agreed that any more than three was where they would draw a line in terms of dating someone. Bahorel objected to the subject, on the grounds that cats were awesome and Jehan agreed. Combeferre refused to partake altogether. Marius weighs in that it seems strange that people made such a big deal about cats, but not about any other animals. “It’s just, you don’t hear about ‘crazy dog men’ like you do ‘crazy cat ladies’ but I know lots of single guys with an army of dogs, and they treat them like people too,” he says, which then leads them into a lengthy discussion about whether or not there’s a gender bias in this kind of thinking, and how unfair that is.

It’s about halfway through this particular discussion that Marius falls completely silent again. Courfeyrac, along with Bossuet and Jehan have been making every effort to keep him involved in all their conversations up to this point. Marius had supposed they realised how out of place he must have felt that morning in the meeting room. Whatever the reason he has been grateful for it, but at that moment he becomes entirely oblivious to the conversation of his new friends. The reason being, that the angel from the entrance hall has just appeared before him once more.

She has been sat at the table opposite him this entire time, but two rather tall students must have blocked her from his view; he catches sight of her as she stands and for a moment their gazes meet again before her attention is recaptured by her friends. It’s a second, maybe less than that, but it seems an eternity is passing as their eyes meet, as if they are living lifetimes in each other’s gaze and seeing into each other’s souls; it comes as a shock to Marius when suddenly they are no longer linked. Still he watches her. Her face is radiant as she laughs lightly at whatever her companions then relate to her. So captivated is he by her smile that he doesn’t even notice when Bossuet leans over the table to wave a hand in his face, and even Courfeyrac almost shouting his name in his ears is entirely ignored. His eyes follow her as she picks up her bag and starts towards the dining hall doors, and Courfeyrac’s eyes follow his to her just before she disappears from sight again.

“Oh man, no, forget it,” he says, voice heavy with sympathy, “You couldn’t find a more off the market girl if you tried!” Marius’ face falls so fast that a few of the boys watching him look genuinely alarmed.  
“She has a boyfriend?” He asks pathetically, looking for all the world like he just saw someone shoot a puppy in front of him, rather than someone who just found out that a girl whose name he still doesn’t know is involved with someone.

“No, definitely not,” says Courfeyrac carefully, “Seriously over-protective Grandfather, actually she...” his voice is lost to Marius as he makes the sudden change back from dejected to full of hope, and this apparently does nothing to quell the alarm in his new friends.  
“Woh there Romeo,” says Feuilly clapping a hand on his shoulder to pull him back down in the seat he had begun to vacate. “We’re not talking about the ‘go and ask permission first’ kind of protective. Cosette Fauchelevent _does not date_. Not _anyone_. Not anyhow,”

 “Why?” he asks, still staring out over everyone’s heads towards the hall doors, as if hoping that if he were to stare for long enough, she would come back into view. His angel, his Cosette... ‘Cosette’... the name was perfect for her; though if you asked him, he almost certainly wouldn’t be able to say why. Unnoticed by him the friends were exchanging slightly uncomfortable looks.  
“It’s uh... not really up to us to say,” says Jehan after a few moments of silence from the group. “It’s just the way it is,”

“Yeah,” says Courfeyrac loudly, patting Marius on the shoulder and bringing him back to earth again, “It’s like a universal truth. Pigs don’t fly, the Sun doesn’t revolve around the Earth, single men, large fortunes, wives. Cosette doesn’t date.” He looks down at his watch, “Right! Come on,” he says, jumping to his feet and dragging Marius with him, “It’s two minutes before the bell, and you have French on the other side of the building, wouldn’t want to be late,” Marius has the distinct impression that he’s trying to distract his thoughts, but now that he’s seen her a second time, and after the way she returned his stare – even for just that one moment – he finds he simply can’t just forget about her. There was something in her eyes when they met his, something that called out to him; that has captured him and rendered him lost until he can find a way to speak to her again.  
“I have to talk to her,” he says, as he is guided out of the hall by Courfeyrac and, he notices absently, Jehan.  
“Marius, it’s pointless,” his friend sighs, “Why cause yourself the pain? Just forget her,”  
“Love is so short, forgetting is so long,” puts in Jehan sadly, with a soft almost sing-song tone, “It is not so easy to do,”

“Love?” Courfeyrac splutters at his friend, “Oh come on! He only learned her _name_ two minutes ago, he’s not in love! Marius...”

But Marius has such a far away, and dreamy, look on his face that Courfeyrac stops short and sighs loudly. “I’m surrounded by sentimental fools,” he laments, earning himself a playful punch from Jehan and a distant sigh from Marius.

“I see Romeo and Pablo have me outnumbered,” he says to nobody in particular, “Fine!” he announces to Marius, gripping his arm in order to ensure his attention, “I happen to know that she is struggling with German, and could do with a tutor,” Marius positively beams at him.

“That’s perfect!” he exclaims, practically smothering Courfeyrac in a sudden hug.

“So you speak German?”asks Courfeyrac when is no longer being half suffocated, and he sounds rather impressed but when Marius shakes his head he becomes simply confused.

“But how hard can it be?” says Marius with conviction, and Jehan laughs, not unkindly, at his gleeful expression. Courfeyrac on the other hand is looking at him as if he proposed walking to the moon and back, but Marius takes no notice. He has always been quick to pick up new languages – a benefit of being moved from country to country by his father since an early age – so he hadn’t lived in Germany and picked up _that_ language, it couldn’t be any more difficult than Korean when he was twelve. He would get Courfeyrac to show him to the library after school, where he could acquire some textbooks. He would study for the rest of this week and over the weekend. He would plan out some lessons and then next Monday he would seek her out and offer to be her tutor. He could learn the rest before he taught it.

To his mind it is am entirely flawless plan. The concept of failure, of being unable to learn enough, or of her rejecting his offer of help, does not even cross his mind. The Grandfather is a different problem altogether. For now it is simply of the utmost importance that he speak with her, just the two of them, that he can spend time with her and determine if what he had felt when their gazes met had been true; that she had felt the same thing as he had. He would worry about the no-dating rule once he was sure of her affections. He relayed his plan to his friends, and didn’t notice Courfeyrac shaking his head in doubt; Jehan’s indulging smile only served to convince him that he was right in his course of action. He saw nothing at all but the certainty of his plan succeeding.

“Well man, if you’re so determined, count me as behind you one hundred percent,” says Courfeyrac as he drops Marius at his French classroom, getting himself a warm smile in return.  
“Thanks Courfeyrac,” he says, turning to follow Jehan into the room. A hand on his arm prevents him.  
“Don’t thank me just yet,” his friend adds, “When I say behind you, I mean hiding behind you,” Marius looks at him in confusion. “Because when Enjolras finds out I gave you information to assist in an elaborate scheme to date his _sister_ , I’m using you as a human shield!” he pauses, and looks thoughtful for a moment, "If he hasn't killed you first that is," then he gives Marius a small pat on the arm before walking away and leaving the boy to stare after him. It takes a few moments for the words to properly sink in, and then Marius pales.


	4. Chapter 3.5: During Which There Is A Brief Interlude for Some Counselling {Ms Simplice}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am dumb and slow and I have a writers block, so here have a little extra Enjolras thing between chapter updates.

“Again Enjolras?” Is the first thing that she says as he sits himself down infront of her desk, crossing his legs neatly and folding his hands on top of them.

“It is hardly my fault if pointing out the flaws in the tools this school chooses to utilise, in the education of young minds, is considered a capital offence,” he says simply, face impassive. She sighs lightly. It’s the second time she has seen him today; and now that every teacher in the school has been given a brief to deal with him by sending him directly to her rather than simply giving him detention or else sending him to the deputy head, she gets the feeling she’s going to be seeing rather a lot more of him in the coming months. It’s not even like he’s a bad kid, she thinks sadly, he just doesn’t seem to know when to keep his mouth shut.

“I don’t think it’s your opinions on the flaws in education that are getting you in trouble,” she reasons, “But rather the manner in which you deliver them,”

“It is sometimes necessary to make a visual, as well as a vocal statement,” he replies easily, absently brushing his fingers through blond curls.

 “Not when it could be a danger to others,” she says sharply, glancing back at the note he had handed her on re-entering her office, only one and half hours after leaving it that morning.  
“There was nobody below the window. I checked,” he says, “I had no intention of harming anybody, I was simply making a political point,”

“You _threw_ a textbook out of a third story window,”

“Would the book in question like a verbal or a written apology?” he offers a charming smile with these words, and she is hard pressed to keep her expression stern; there’s a hint of victory in his eyes that suggests he may have seen her mouth twitching into a smile.

“Don’t get smart with me,” she scolds him regardless, “Now, given that I only saw you...” she makes a point of glancing at her clock “... One hour forty three minutes ago. There’s not much that I can say that we haven’t already discussed. I take it that you haven’t considered my suggestion from this morning; that a better way of putting your opinions forward might be to take them calmly to your teachers between classes?”

“I considered it.” He says, and she raises an eyebrow at that, “I wonder if you have considered that, such a course of action, makes it easier to brush important issues under the carpet, and that indeed, this is known to have occurred already within this very school,”

“You’re talking about the cafeteria debacle,” she says, remembering the incident well. He nods an affirmative. “Well, since you bring it up, _that_ is precisely what I mean,”

“We got what we wanted,” he states simply.

“You think so? I rather hate to burst your bubble, but I am known for my honesty.” She folds her hands on top of the desk, leaning in slightly to deliver what she suspects is a real bombshell for this particular student, “The school board decided it wasn’t financially viable to instigate a change; and agreed with Mr Phillips that bowing to such disobedience in the student body was irresponsible at best,” she sees him tense, and can only imagine what must be going on in his head right now; she wonders for a moment if she has done the right thing in telling him this news. Still, she supposes, he would have found out eventually. “So you see,” she continues, “Disruption of classes and destroying school property...” any other student might have rolled their eyes at that, but Enjolras is unmoving, “... it doesn’t exactly endear you or your ideas to the faculty. Is it any wonder they find you...” she pauses a moment, searching for the right word.

“Difficult?” he offers, his tone is tighter now, and he’s looking determinedly somewhere behind her head, as if he’s having trouble keeping his anger contained.

“That’s a polite way to put it,” she says, and sighs again, she needs to defuse him now.

“Enjolras; you’re a wonderful boy,” she says after a few moments of silence, and he glances at her with surprise. “You are,” she insists, “You have so much compassion, you’re passionate, you’re smart, and you’re articulate. You have the potential to change the world, but you’re not going to do that by throwing temper tantrums during school hours.” For the first time since sitting down opposite her, she sees him start to unwind slightly, and his eyes fall to his lap. She sends him a small smile. “I don’t want to see you thrown out of this school; I don’t want you to have that to compete with for the rest of your life. I don’t want to see you throw your life away over something so small, when you could spend the rest of it fighting the bigger issues,”

There’s a knock at the door, and she glances over at the clock again. She has another appointment scheduled. “Think about that okay?” she says to him, gesturing that he can leave. There’s still a degree of fire in his eyes when he stands up, but she thinks – she hopes – she has managed to smother it enough that he won’t do anything too reckless; at least not straight away. He pulls the door open a little harder than necessary, and doesn’t apologise when he almost trips over the brown haired boy lingering on the threshold.

“Charming,” the newcomer shouts after him, but he is ignored entirely and so refocuses his attention on her instead, a wide smile covering his face, “Some people have such terrible manners,” he says jovially, stepping into the office and shutting the door behind him.


	5. In Which Sometimes to Avoid an Argument One Must Argue Over Something Completely Different {Cosette}

Nothing could have prepared her for that moment.

It’s not that she’s never had a crush on anyone before; just because your Grandfather has forbidden you from actually dating anyone, doesn’t stop you from thinking about it after all. It’s not even like she hadn’t thought he was cute the first time she saw him. Despite obviously being extremely shy and more than a little awkward, there was something really very sweet and charming about him. She had thought about him several times for the next few hours, wondering if he was okay, hoping he had found his way to the reception, shuddering at the thought of his having to meet Mrs Thenardier – she shudders now thinking of it too – but none of that compared to the thrill that had gone through her on meeting his gaze in the dining hall. As if the world had stopped, and everyone around them had vanished, and every other romantic movie cliché that made her wonder if she hadn’t watched West Side Story one too many times.

She has had crushes before, but nothing like this. This wasn’t a crush, not even close, and it seemed completely ridiculous to think that way. To think that anyone could really fall in love that quickly, from the mere meeting of eyes across a room; yet here she was. She had spent most of the afternoon trying to deny it. Had thrown herself into her lessons and discussions with her friends with even more passion than was usual, she had even tried casually flirting with the cute bus driver on the way home, ignoring her brother’s eye-rolling as he flung his own money down on the counter and stalked to an empty pair of seats; briefly she wondered what had riled him up this time. Normally she would have been mad at him for his rudeness, but really she was feeling a little queasy with herself. As if she were cheating her own heart by even thinking to flirt with someone else; which she knew was entirely silly, because she doesn’t even know his name, and she had chastised herself for feeling that way for the entire bus ride home. Still the fact remains that she does feel this way, and there is nothing to be done for it but to wait it out and hope that it will go away on its own. So far it seems he isn’t in any of her classes, so he is either not a senior, or the fates were being kind when his schedule was written up, so it shouldn’t be too hard to avoid him.

But, she thinks to herself with a sigh, rolling over on her bed to stare up at the ceiling, she doesn’t want to have to avoid him; doesn’t want to avoid anyone. Yes, maybe it’s stupid and naive to think herself in love after one day, after one glance, but is it unheard of? No, she decides, there are too many poems and love stories written on the power held in just one look for it to be a complete fallacy.

So she is in love then and not knowing name or character means nothing when you have seen a person’s soul as she has; those are things that can be found out later. Or could be found out later, by anyone other than herself. But that isn’t an option for her, because no doubt if she tries, word will get back to her Grandfather and everything will be ruined; not for the first time, a small shadow of resentment is flaring in her mind and she pushes herself upright and off the bed, races over to her desk and pulls open her diary to get it out of her system and onto the page instead. She loves her Grandfather, very dearly, more than anyone else in the world except maybe her brother; but he doesn’t seem to understand that she is not her mother and she doesn’t need him to protect her like this anymore. She has lost count of the number of times these words have been poured into the tattered little diary. It doesn’t follow a day to day recounting of her life, in fact she started it when she was eleven and seven years later she’s only now nearing the final page. It’s for days like today, when there are things that need to be said, but that can never be uttered out loud. She writes so that she doesn’t scream.

It’s when she is in the middle of a thought that a knock sounds through the room, and leaving her pen inside to mark the page she quickly closes the book and calls for the knocker to come in. It’s her brother whose head pops around the door, and she’s relieved. She still needs some time to compose her feelings before seeing their Grandfather.

“Dinner’s nearly ready,” he says leaning against the doorframe and eyeing the hastily closed diary. He’s never read it, he swears to it; and he doesn’t lie about things like that, he never has. She knows that he wonders what goes on inside her head though; she’s an enigma to him, with her romantic ideals and her seemingly carefree nature. She wonders sometimes which of them is most like their mother. Sometimes she’ll catch their Grandfather looking at each of them with an air of sadness that can only come from their physical resemblance to her. Cosette has seen photographs, but he doesn’t talk about what she was _like_ very often. Even when he does, he will simply say that she was kind and loving, and strong, and Cosette thinks those words are far to general to help build a picture of what her mother really was. She nods at her brother and says “I’ll be down in a minute,” his eyes flicker from her face to her diary once more before he backs out of the room and pulls the door closed behind him.

She wonders when it was that they started to drift apart. Not physically speaking, since aside from school she spends most of her time with him - on her Grandfather’s orders - but emotionally they have never been more distant. They used to be close. They were twins, and they had seen their share of tragedy before they were old enough to remember it; how could they not have been? In the last few years though, the long secret conversations in the middle of the night have ended. In fact, more often than not, they will go whole days without exchanging more than a few words. They used to play together all the time, they would go on adventures, build pillow forts, play at fairy tales, she would play the princess and he would be her knight, and vice versa too, sometimes. Nowadays the most they play is a game of chess or cards on a particularly rainy day. His group of friends at school probably know more about his thoughts and feelings than she does, as her friends do about hers. When she thinks about it, she misses him. She writes this down in her diary, before closing it properly and standing up. She takes a deep breath to get her mind in check before heading out of her room.

* * *

 

Family dinners have become a sombre affair in recent years. With just the three of them, and neither her brother or her Grandfather being particularly talkative by nature, Cosette often finds she is wittering to herself about everything and nothing, just to have something to listen to; even if it is her own voice. Today, things are worse than ever. She can’t seem to find anything to say without the fear that she will mention the boy that occupies her thoughts. The last thing she needs is for their Grandfather to assign her brother to tail her at school as well, and she knows that’s the last thing that he wants too. As much as possible he tries to let her have her own life at school, since he’s forbidden from doing so at any other time.

“I got a call from you school counsellor today,” she glances up at her Grandfather and finds him looking sternly at her brother, who only looks uncomfortable for a moment before schooling his expression into indifference. She’d heard about his trip to the counsellor’s office at lunchtime, from one of her friends who had World History with him.

“Is that so?” he says calmly, pretending to eat, but really just moving his food around his plate. He does that a lot recently, she’s noticed.

“Twice in one day Enjolras?” she looks back at her Grandfather, surprised, she hadn’t heard about a second trip. Enjolras sighs and places his fork down on the plate, giving up the pretence of eating entirely.  
“I was pointing out serious flaws in our education,” he says, “As is my right,”

“Must you point them out so often?” responds their Grandfather tiredly. Cosette sighs lightly, poking at her own food. It’s rare that the two of them truly fall out, but she has noticed a significant rise in the letters and calls that their Grandfather has been receiving from the school recently, and she has noticed the strain it’s been putting on their relationship. She can always recognise the signs of an upcoming row.

“If something were done about them, I wouldn’t have to continue to point them out,” is the retort, and Cosette shoots him a look, begging him silently not to push this. She knows he understands her, they have always been able to understand one another without words if necessary, but he listens to her less and less these days.

“Enjolras I understand your concerns, but at this rate you are going to ruin your future entirely,”

 “I am not worried about my own future.” He snaps back, “I am worried about the future of every young mind in the country!”

“I do not want to see you wasting your potential like this. You may not be concerned, but I am!”

“You really did speak to the counsellor didn’t you,” scoffs Enjolras, though he appears more affected than Cosette thinks he wants to.

“This has got to stop!” their Grandfather half shouts, “There is only so much my influence can do for you, they will throw you out if you’re not careful,”

“So I’ve been told,” says Enjolras with carefully constructed indifference, “But perhaps that would be for the best. I can’t say I have much desire to stay in that institution myself; they are nothing but liars, totalitarians and hypocrites, masquerading as educators. I am sick of them,”

“This is not just about you,” their Grandfather’s voice has gone dangerously low, “Your actions reflect on this whole family, on me, and on your sister as well, or do you _want_ to drag her down with you?”  
Cosette holds her breath at that, glancing between her two family members and wishing she had anything to say that could break the tension in the room. Her Grandfather has always had some sympathy for Enjolras and his causes, but he has also always drawn the line at it affecting his studies or her safety; and there have been several long and furious rows caused by her tagging along to his rallies and protests. From the way both of them are turning red, she can already sense another such row is looming, can already see the retort forming in Enjolras’ mind; and she desperately wishes she could stop it. Yet everything she thinks of is so inconsequential that it would only distract them for a moment, rather than divert them entirely, and indeed there is only one subject in the world she thinks could prevent the brewing outburst.

“I think I’m in love,” she says loudly, half throwing herself out of her chair.

The reaction is immediate, and if she weren’t herself, in this situation, but rather a stranger watching from a corner of the room, it might even be called comical. Enjolras – who had probably been on the verge of his retort – sputters, actually sputters, and his eyes seem to grow to the size of saucers as he stares, dumbfounded, at her. Her Grandfather has followed her out of her seat, his mouth gaping. He seems to be searching for a place to begin, and Cosette grasps the seconds of complete silence to find some way out of this that won’t involve having a chaperone assigned to her for every lesson from now until graduation.

“I met him this morning, and even though we only spoke for a moment, and he probably doesn’t remember me,” she feels it’s probably best not to mention the glance they shared at lunch, “I think I’m in love!” It takes a few more seconds for anyone else to say anything. The first to snap out of his shock is Enjolras, who simply shakes his head and mutters ‘Here we go’ as he runs a hand through his hair. Their Grandfather seems to wake up at these words, and moves around the table to grasp her hands and stare imploringly into her face.

“Who is this boy?” he asks quietly, looking worried, and she feels suddenly terrible for doing this to him. Keeping it a secret wouldn’t have done any harm, at all, to anyone, except possibly to herself; but now that it’s out in the open she can see he’s already reliving a nightmare in his memories. Stupid, she thinks to herself. It’s not like he and Enjolras haven’t fought before, and it’s not like they won’t fight again, it was unnecessary to say that. “What has he said to you?” There is a beat of a few seconds following those words, and all of a sudden she feels as though her stomach is twisting, and her face flushing red - not from embarrassment - her compassion for him is challenged by something completely new, and her fists clench at her sides. She’s angry, she realises. Angry on behalf of the boy she met in the corridor; the boy who was too shy and sweet to properly catch her eye, except by a beautiful accident. Angry that her Grandfather whom she has always known to be kind and generous, could think so cruelly of someone whom he has never met and of whom he knows nothing.  
“Grandpa he hasn’t said anything, I told you,” she says, she’s the one imploring him now, begging him to see that there isn’t a threat here, that he has nothing to fear, that he’s being irrational, “I only saw him this morning, I just asked if he was okay, he didn’t even speak...”

“You said you thought you were in love Cosette,” he says, and he’s looking at her like one might look at a child, as if it was clear he must have said something to make her think such things; she finds that she’s angry at that too.

“I am perfectly capable of deciding if I’m in love without someone telling me that I am,” she says, holding her head a little higher, and in the corner of her eye she spots Enjolras looking vaguely impressed; if that makes her resolve even stronger, well, so much the better.

  
“Cosette,” her full attention is snapped back to her Grandfather, and she has to fight to hold onto her anger when she sees the sadness in his eyes, “I believe you,” if there were one thing she was absolutely not expecting to hear, that was it. She stands blinking in confusion, unable to find a response.  
“Then...” is all she manages to get out before he starts speaking again.

“But Cosette, you are young,” he says, holding her hands a little tighter.

“Papa I...”

“Euphrasie!” She flinches at the use of her Christian name. Nobody ever calls her Euphrasie, in fact she’s fairly sure even her closest friends either do not know, or have forgotten, that Cosette isn’t her true name. Euphrasie was the name that her mother had chosen for her, with her very last words. Even her Grandfather hesitates to use it except in desperation. She feels tears spring to her eyes as she hears it. “Cosette,” he starts again, apologetic, “I know what you think you are feeling, but you do not know the world as I do. You... I love you, and I don’t want to see you hurt,”

“Grandpa...”

“Do we need to talk about this again Cosette?” he asks her, and everything about him seems weary, “You know I will not be moved on this.” she sighs, but nods her head.

“You will not see this boy again?” She hesitates a moment; for the first time in her life it feels like too much to promise.

“I know the rules Grandfather,” she says carefully; as she knows very well that if she pushes any further he will only dig his heels in deeper. The last time she had challenged his rules, and had gone out without her brother to a party, he had very seriously considered moving them all out of town. It was only after a long argument, and Enjolras contacting the parents of her friend to ensure him it had been chaperoned and only girls that he had allowed it to pass. He squeezes her hands gently, and gives her a relieved smile before taking his seat again at the table; she sits down too, staring into her food. Silence reigns over the table for a few moments.

“I heard you ran a record time in track today,” Enjolras says after a moment, and Cosette looks up at him. He is moving his food around his plate again, and it’s such a familiar movement it’s more comforting than worrying for once. Enjolras doesn’t make small talk as a rule, and the record track time he is talking about actually occurred several days ago, but she hadn’t mentioned it yet. Still she catches the prompt in his eyes and smiles at him nodding. Perhaps it's an obvious subject change, and a little uncomfortably placed, but she will take anything right now.

“Oh?” their Grandfather looks to her, and she grabs the opportunity with both hands, launching into the story, and as she speaks she is reminded of a track contest that is coming up in a few weeks. She makes a point of turning to Enjolras to ensure that he’ll accompany her. He agrees readily, which may be unusual for him – she knows he resents having to chaperone her as much as she resents having to be chaperoned – but it does the trick and the mood around the table lightens steadily. With the burden of her feelings out in the open it is easier to find subjects to distract them all, and, by the end, things are almost back to normal, and both arguments almost entirely forgotten; for the time being at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> =) Much as I love Marius it was nice to get out of his head for a little while. Also it's so fun to write from Cosette's perspective.


	6. In Which Cosette Gets a New ‘German Tutor’ and They Hatch a Plan of Their Own {Cosette}

She only catches glimpses of him at school over the next few days, and though their eyes meet several times, neither makes a move to formally meet. She does not know his reasons for hesitation, though she suspects it is due to his being shy. She knows her own however.

When she had promised her Grandfather to stick to his rules, she hadn’t lied. The rules were simple, she wasn’t to ‘date’ and aside from school, she wasn’t to leave the house without her brother or Grandfather to accompany her. She knows that she has promised, yet again, to abide by these rules, but, she reasons, she just wants to talk to him, to get to know him; talking to someone isn’t _dating_ them, it is just talking. She has told herself this a hundred times, and she believes it, she does... but she can’t help but feel that her Grandfather might not agree, and so she hangs back for now. However, she thinks, she can hardly help it if _he_ comes to talk to _her_ , can she? It would be incredibly rude to ignore someone who has sought you out for a conversation. So she decides that she will wait and see if he does so. If not, well after all it _is_ just talking.

She isn’t worried that he isn’t interested in her, the glances they have shared have reassured her that he shares her affection, as did the way he nearly fell over his own feet when she smiled at him in the corridor; his friend, Courfeyrac, one of Enjolras’ little group, had nearly died laughing at him for it. She is worried that he won’t ever get the courage to do anything.

The weekend passes as most do, though she manages to convince Enjolras to go shopping with her and a couple of friends. Normally he would be as unmoving as a boulder on the subject, but she suspects he’s still grateful that she fell on a sword for him over dinner and got him out of a shouting match – and whatever the fallout might have been – with their Grandfather. She enjoys herself a little too much watching him try to fend off the attentions of her friends without causing a scene. She has always been aware that her brother is popular amongst the girls at school, but he himself has always seemed entirely oblivious to it; and has certainly never _tried_ to get anyone to pay him that kind of attention. Eventually she announces that she is tired and ready to head back, partly because she is taking pity on him, but mostly because he looks ready to commit murder. She teases him the whole way home, the result being that he storms up the stairs to lock himself in his room for the evening, and she realises her grace period is well and truly over. Still, she smiles to herself and runs to her own room to try on the clothes she bought herself. When their Grandfather knocks on her door, and asks what the matter is with him, she simply says “Girl troubles,” and laughs herself silly when he leaves looking half concerned and half confused. They must have talked about it, because when Enjolras finally reappears for dinner he scowls at her as if she were responsible for all the inequality in the world. She simply smiles and talks happily about their day.

She had hoped that come Monday, she would finally get to speak to the boy who – she had learned from Enjolras after careful questioning – was called Marius. However, things went much the same as they had the previous week, with nothing more than looks shared between them. On Tuesday she had made a point of hovering near his locker with her friend Elaina when she knew he would be there, but still he had simply given her a soft smile before scurrying away with Courfeyrac in tow. Poor Elaina was abandoned rather abruptly as Cosette had huffed and stalked away.

In fact it was another three days of this before he finally appeared before her of his own free will, and when he did it was not in any way what she was expecting.

“Courfeyrac told me that you needed a German tutor!” he says, very loudly and all in a rush, though thankfully none of her friends are around to witness his embarrassment. She thinks it’s adorable, despite being confused, but she can’t help but also be half annoyed at her brother and his friend for sharing her troubles with her language class. There is very little at school she is considered ‘bad’ at, and it’s not really fair that Marius, of whom she knows nothing, already knows a flaw of hers. Still, she has to admit that Marius being her tutor in German is an excellent cover and technically – technically – it doesn’t break any of her Grandfather’s rules. So she smiles widely at him.

“It’s not my best subject,” she admits, feeling herself blush slightly when he returns her smile, “I’d appreciate the help...” she trails off, unsure whether it’s wise to admit she has already found out his name. He blushes now, and she is reminded of their first meeting.

“God, sorry I should have introduced myself,” he stutters, one hand wringing the back of his neck, the other is held out to her as he continues, “Marius Pontmercy, at your service,” the blush deepens, “Sorry that was lame,” he adds. She laughs lightly, taking his hand and giving it a small shake as well as performing a little curtsey.

“Cosette,” she says, though she’s certain that he already knew that, “And it’s not lame at all,” it takes them several moments and a wolf whistle from a passerby to realise they are still holding each other’s hand. Both let go as if electrocuted.

As it is once again Friday, they set a date – no, not a date, they make an arrangement – to meet in the library on the following Monday, at morning break, and with that, they take their leave to head to their respective classes.

“And he changed your surname?” Cosette gasps, offended on his behalf as he nods, “That’s terrible!” The librarian shushes them loudly, and she waves an apology at him; never taking her eyes off Marius.

They’ve been sat in the library for almost the entire morning break, they have been shushed like this three times already, and they have both yet to even open the German textbooks in front of them. Marius has been recounting almost his entire life since they sat down, at Cosette’s urging, fascinated as she was when he mentioned how much he had travelled as a child as the reason for his success at languages. She has never so much as left the city. Her Grandfather isn’t much for travelling, though she knows he used to do so a great deal. Marius had mostly recounted tales of heroics by his father, and this had lead to the realisation that both had the loss of both parents in common now. It had been around then that they had joined hands across the table, and they are still lightly linked together now.

“To try and just erase your father like that,” Cosette says, squeezing his fingers, “That’s just... it’s awful,” Marius nods again, but then holds his head up.

“I told him when I got home that if he didn’t get it formally changed back, I’d walk out,” he says proudly, “I think he thought I was joking, but my Aunt convinced him to do it anyway,” she smiles at this, thinking to herself that he must be very brave to stand up to his family like that. She almost wishes for a moment that she could do the same, but when she looks into his eyes there is a hint of sadness tucked away behind the pride. It occurs to her suddenly that it must be very lonely for him, to be half estranged from his only remaining family, even when living under the same roof.  
“Well,” he says, slightly awkwardly, after a moment, “That’s... that’s me I guess,” he glances down at the book infront of him, seems to contemplate it for a moment, and she holds her breath. She’s enjoying just talking to him, getting to know him; she doesn’t want this to slip into something formal as tutoring just yet.

“So what about you?” he says to her relief some moments later, and she lets out a slightly breathless laugh.

“Oh there’s not much to tell,” she says, “I was born and raised right here in the city, I’ve never travelled in my life, I live with my Grandfather and my twin brother,” Marius winces slightly at that, and she laughs, squeezing his hand again, “Oh he’s not that bad,”

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Marius squeaks, blushing slightly at some bad memory or other.

“Enjolras doesn’t like most people very much at first,” she says frowning slightly; her brother is perfectly capable of being charming and making friends, but more often than not he chooses to simply not bother; unless it benefits his little group of revolutionaries. “But... he’s good, at heart, and once he trusts someone, he warms up... a little,” she adds with a small smile. She sees more than she thinks Enjolras believes she does. For the most part, when his friends are gathered in their home, he sits apart from the core of the action – unless he’s giving some speech or other – but she notices his smiles at their antics, sees when he rests a hand on someone’s shoulder without any other reason but affection. He cares a great deal about each of them, that much is obvious to her. Marius is good, and sweet and kind, and she knows that as long as he remains within the little troupe, then eventually Enjolras will come around. He may value a flair for political activism and opinions that tally with his own, but she knows he values the loyalty of his friends to each other more than anything.

“A little,” Marius repeats with a small smile, “Encouraging,” she laughs.

 “I know, I know, he’s hopeless,” she says, “And he really needs to get out more too,” she sighs. It’s not that she doesn’t understand the world’s a shitty place for a lot of people, and it’s certainly not that she doesn’t care; she really does. It’s just that unlike her brother, she doesn’t see the point of never having any fun or letting loose occasionally; the world will take care of itself for a few hours at least. The bell goes then, causing Marius to jump and his hand to slip out of hers; she mourns the loss of contact. They collect up their things as slowly as they can get away with.

“So we never actually got around to that studying,” he says, and there’s a touch of apology in his tone that suggests he wasn’t entirely certain this hadn’t just been an excuse to spend time with him, and that maybe she really did want him to tutor her. She smiles, and rests a hand on his shoulder for a moment.

“Well, we’ll just have to try again tomorrow,” she says, pulling her bag over her shoulder and leading the way out of the library. He trots up alongside her a few moments later.

“Or you know, we could always, I don’t know, we could try again, over dinner, maybe,” it’s adorable, the way he tumbles over his words, so much so that she’s almost agreeing before she catches herself and slams the breaks on.

“You’re asking me out?” she asks carefully, “Like on a date?”

He seems to think about that for a second, “No...um” he says slowly, obviously still working on what he can say to that, “I know, you’re Grandfather doesn’t let you date,” he begins, “But a study session that just happens to involve food isn’t really a date,” she smiles at that, apparently they’re both on the same page already.

“I suppose not,” she replies, and his face lights up.

“Great so...”

 “Not so fast, there’s still a problem,” he looks confused, and either Courfeyrac hasn’t told him the second rule or it’s simply slipped his mind in his excitement, either way she hates to burst his bubble. “Second house rule. I don’t go anywhere without my brother,” Marius face falls again and they walk in slightly frustrated silence for a couple of moments.

“Well, I mean, he could... tag along?” Marius tries, unsure. She loves him for putting it out there, despite apparently being a little terrified of her brother.

“This is Enjolras we’re talking about,” she says with a sigh, “He doesn’t go to... study sessions that just happen to involve food, or anywhere fun really,” she frowns and adds, “When I say he needs to get out more, I am not kidding, I swear I’ve been to more political meetings, protests and marches than I’ve been to restaurants, cinema and mall combined.” Marius looks sympathetic and a little bit concerned. “It’s so frustrating,” she continues, “Nevermind an actual normal teenage life, I’d settle for being able to walk to the corner shop and back without an escort and not ever having to hold up a wooden sign, for three hours, again,”

 “Wow, and I thought I lived a sheltered life,” he says, looking down at his shoes, “You couldn’t convince him to do something fun, just once?”

She shakes her head. It’s not that Enjolras takes any pleasure in keeping her from enjoying herself, but he’s always so busy himself, that he rarely has the time to spare; and his causes are just so important to him, that the chances of him putting them to one side so that she can ‘study over dinner’ with a boy she met just over a week ago, are actually stuck at zero. It’s not even like she could trick him into it, he knows all of her tricks by this point.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but he could really use a girlfriend or something,” says Marius after a pause. She glances at him, and he blushes, as if he hadn’t really meant to say that out loud.  
“Sorry,” he says quickly, “I didn’t mean... I know he’s your brother but...”

“No, it’s fine,” she cuts across him.

“I just thought... I mean he has friends and everything, but they’re almost as committed to this political stuff as he is, and they don’t really mind that he doesn’t do much else. I just thought if he had someone else, maybe he’d actually want to...” he stops talking and Cosette glances at him waiting for him to finish what he was saying, but he seems to have fallen deep into some thought or other.  
“Maybe,” she says, and while he doesn’t break out of his own head completely she notices his eyes flick briefly to her, and she knows at least that he is listening, “But, well, first of all Enjolras has never shown interest in anyone, and secondly, for all well over half the female population of this school probably thinks they’re half in love with him, I don’t think they’d make it past a first meeting,” she sighs, “He’s pretty intense,” she adds, thinking back to over the weekend and the cutting remarks that she knew were just barely being contained behind her brother’s grimace while her friends fawned over him. Remarks that would probably have either sent all of them into tears, or else earned him a slap or two.

“I’m sure there are plenty of girls who would like that,” Marius says, though Cosette isn’t a hundred percent convinced he believes it, “At least, there’s got to be someone who wouldn’t be intimidated by it at first. People go white water rafting and jump out of planes, it’d be like... extreme dating,” she laughs at that.

 “You think there’s someone that extreme out there?” she asks, nudging his shoulder and he grins around at her.

“Maybe,” he says, and he’s sounding more and more like he’s not only giving this serious thought, but concluding that it’s something actually possible. Cosette thinks about it too, but she’s not so easily convinced. She knows her brother far too well, and while she’s reasonably sure Enjolras isn’t totally opposed to relationships as a concept, she’s not sure he’s ever considered entering into one, and even if he would, she does know it would take someone pretty exceptional – not to mention fearless – to catch his attention. Still, she thinks, if someone like that exists at their school, it might not be such a bad thing to give them a little nudge in Enjolras’ direction; it might even be good for him. Much as she supports his causes, she worries about him constantly working himself into the ground over them; it could be good for him to have someone real and tangible to care for, instead of just the nameless, faceless mass of oppressed. Someone to take his mind off the troubles of the world for a while and just let him be himself again; be her brother again. She wonders if it’s selfish to want that.

“I don’t know...” she says, slowing her steps as they come to the door of her next class. Marius stops beside it with her. “You think you could find someone like that?” she asks. He shrugs lightly but he’s still smiling.

“Worst case scenario, we don’t find anyone, or we do and he shoots them down anyway – as long as they know that’s a possibility who gets hurt?” she shakes her head lightly as if to acknowledge he has a point, and he continues, “Best case scenario, they hit it off, you tag along with them to places that aren’t rallies, and if I just so happen to be there too, it’s just a coincidence right?” The second bell sounds out then, and she jumps.

“You should get to class,” she says hurriedly, giving his arm a gentle push. He starts walking backwards slowly.

“But it’s worth a try right?” he asks, and she only thinks about it for a few seconds before nodding agreement and drawing a radiant smile from him that makes her breath catch in her throat. She covers herself by making a shooing motion with her hands, determined that he shouldn’t be late for class and get in trouble on her account; and when he finally turns and walks away with purpose she does the same.

She takes her usual seat at the front of the class just as the teacher calls them all to attention, but her mind isn’t in her work for the whole lesson. It is with Marius, and his sparkling smile and warm eyes and sweet, slightly naive, nature. She doubts very much that he will be able to find anyone who could catch her brother’s interest, but she can’t help but smile to herself at his eagerness to spend time with her; she feels the same for him after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is my Everest XD. Thanks to everyone so far who has commented or left Kudos etc, it really does help to spur me on =).


	7. In Which Marius Seeks Romantic Advice... But Not For Himself

He waits outside the little clubroom after last period, knowing it’s the best chance he has of catching Courfeyrac before he leaves. He doesn’t go inside, he never does – and he can hear Enjolras already in full flow and has no desire to interrupt – so it’s entirely possible that his friend has already gone in and he’s missed his chance for the day. However, he knows for certain that there’s a girl Courfeyrac has had his eye on in his French class, and he’s hoping that pointless flirtation will have made him late.

Sure enough, a few minutes later he sees his friend making his way down the corridor, looking slightly crestfallen; though he lights up on spotting Marius, and comes bounding the rest of the way to stand beside him. “You have changed your mind!” he states with a grin, clapping Marius on the shoulder and going to open the club door. Marius is quick to pull back and deny – once again – having any inclination to join the band of revolutionaries.

“Actually I was hoping to ask for your help on something,” he says, and once more Courfeyrac goes quickly from disappointment to excitement, “Do you think you’ll be missed?” Marius asks, nodding his head at the door. Courfeyrac presses his ear against it, and a few moments later he draws away again with a laugh. “Not likely, Bahorel is causing a stir, they probably haven’t even noticed I’m not there,” he says and his hand goes back to Marius’ shoulder; and Marius is quite sure he’s going to wind up permanently bruised there by the end of the year. “What is troubling you my friend?” he asks and starts guiding them away. Marius pauses, wondering suddenly if this was really a good idea. Courfeyrac is certainly not averse to dating, and initially Marius had been sure that the plan would amuse him endlessly, but he can’t help but remember the innate protectiveness towards Enjolras that runs through the whole group. He’s sure if he were trying to set up anyone else, Courfeyrac would jump at the chance, but Enjolras? Would he be offended on his leader’s behalf?

“Well,” Courfeyrac prompts after almost a minute passes in silence, and Marius jumps slightly at his voice, causing him to sigh, “Really Marius, you are more often in a daydream than anywhere else,” he says, “You asked me for my advice on something, and I can’t give it to you unless I know what the matter is. Is it Cosette? Because honestly, I’m usually all for giving out dating tips, but she’s one of my friend’s sisters and it’s a little awkward for me to...”

“It’s Enjolras,”

Courfeyrac blinks at him several times, apparently in deep confusion over Marius’ sudden declaration. Marius colours slightly and stammers out in explanation, “I mean, the house rules he and Cosette have to follow.” This apparently does nothing to alleviate Courfeyrac’s confusion, and Marius is silently kicking himself for making this decision in the first place. Surely finding a girl who would be a suitable match for Cosette’s brother wouldn’t be so difficult? Did he really need to ask Courfeyrac’s help?

The unfortunate answer to this was yes. Marius had spent the rest of the day trying to subtly  observe the girls in his classes to find one who seemed a likely candidate, and had succeeded only in embarrassing himself every time he got caught staring. On the off chance that he was even able to find someone without either freaking them out, or making them think _he_ was interested, he had never had much luck in talking to girls in the past, even on the most mundane of topics; so the idea of asking one of them if they wanted to date someone else – especially someone as infamous throughout the school body as Enjolras – filled him with horror. He thought perhaps for Cosette, he could be brave enough to try, but he also knew the results were not likely to be positive. So he draws a breath and begins explaining the discussion he had had with Cosette, to Courfeyrac, who listens attentively and who – to Marius’ delight – does not simply punch him on the nose and walk away. In fact, his face seems to light up and there is a sort of mischievous glee in his eyes as Marius concludes; there is the amusement Marius had been hoping for.  
“Excellent!” he exclaims, grinning from ear to ear, and Marius breathes a sigh of relief.  
“You don’t hate me then?” he asks, and Courfeyrac only laughs in response, “I mean he is your friend, I thought you might be...”

“Offended?” Marius nods, and Courfeyrac laughs again, “I would defend Enjolras with my life if necessary, but I’ll be the first to admit, it would do him some good to relax once in a while.” He claps his hands and rubs them together as they walk out of the schools front doors, “This is really too perfect. The best idea ever, I can’t believe _I_ wasn’t the one to think of it!”

Most of the school is milling around outside by now, aside from those involved in after school activities – both official and unofficial – and from the top of the ridiculous staircase Courfeyrac surveys his fellow students with a knowledgeable eye, and Marius thinks he couldn’t have a better partner in crime. “So, who are we going for?” asks Courfeyrac after a moment, and his gaze is curious and turned upon Marius who blinks in shock.

“I...uh,” he stutters, feeling like someone just burst a balloon in his face, “That is... that’s what I was going to ask _you_ ,”

“Me?”  
“Well, yeah,” Marius exclaims, unsure of quite how this could possibly have been lost on Courfeyrac, “I mean, he’s your friend... surely you would know what he’d look for,”

“Enjolras.” Courfeyrac says.

“Yes, Enjolras,” Marius replies; feeling more than a little frustrated at this point.   
“No, that wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Enjolras,” Courfeyrac says again, “You’re talking about Enjolras here. He’s not exactly the curl up with a tub of ice cream and a cheesy movie to talk about his feelings kind of guy.”

“But surely...” Marius can hardly believe what he’s hearing. Courfeyrac, who knows everything about everyone, is apparently completely oblivious in the one area that matters right now, “You must have some idea,” he presses, knowing he sounds more than a little desperate, but Courfeyrac simply shakes his head. “But, you were all... ‘this is the best idea ever’!” he’s aware that his impression of Courfeyrac is subpar, and it earns him an amused expression from his friend.  
“It _is_ the best idea ever,” He laughs, “But, I sort of figured Cosette had given you some insight hitherto unknown to the majority of mankind that we could use. You know, being his sister and all,”  
“She’s sort of as clueless as you...” Marius deflates with a sigh, not knowing quite how to proceed from here.

From observing the group of Enjolras’ friends, the only other person he can think of who might know anything about Enjolras’ romantic inclinations is Combeferre, and somehow he can’t quite imagine the sensible bespectacled boy being nearly as enthusiastic about the idea of setting up his best friend as Courfeyrac had been. If anything, he finds himself more scared of Combeferre than Enjolras himself, and doesn’t really fancy invoking his wrath; he’d probably go and tell Enjolras, and then they’d all be in trouble. He shudders slightly and tries not to imagine facing both of them at once. Meanwhile, Courfeyrac is tapping his finger to his chin in a universal ‘thoughtful’ pose.   
“Maybe there’re some clues in his room,” he says after a moment and Marius scoffs.  
“You’re telling me you’ve been friends with the guy for years and you’ve never seen his room?”  
Courfeyrac shrugs, “Once or twice, but only briefly...” he says, “He’s a very private guy,” he adds in his own defence when Marius looks incredulous, “Besides, I wasn’t looking for anything then. I’m pretty forward but even I don’t usually just dive through people’s belongings the first time they invite me over. Even if I don’t think they’d skin me alive for it.”   
Marius sighs again, looking out over the almost empty parking lot. If Enjolras barely lets his closest friends into his space, then Marius certainly doesn’t stand much of a chance.  
“What about Cosette?”

“Huh?” Marius glances back around at her name, and Courfeyrac takes a moment to laugh at his automatic response to it, and the way his eyes apparently sparkle, before asking whether it would be possible for Cosette to sneak a look around her brother’s room. Marius is hesitant. On the one hand, she is the best placed out of anyone to do some snooping, with them living in the same house and all. All she would have to do would be to wait for him to head off to one of his protests or meetings – or whatever it is he does with his spare time – and turn his room over while he’s gone. The house rules would mean there’d be no reason to question her remaining in the house all day. On the other hand, much as Marius wants to be able to spend time with her, he’s not blind to the affection she has for her brother, and he doesn’t want to jeopardise that. As long as it’s just him – and Courfeyrac – carrying out this plan, even if Enjolras finds out and is angry, there is no need for him to think Cosette had any knowledge of it, or anything to do with it.  
“I don’t know...” he says slowly, and Courfeyrac shrugs again.

“Well, maybe you should ask her, because he knows me far too well to not think there’s something up if I start rooting through his drawers.” He says, and Marius knows he’s right. He resolves to bring the idea to Cosette the next day, but to make it perfectly clear that it’s up to her to decide. If she says no... well they can still have their break-time ‘German’ tutorials after all. He nods at Courfeyrac, who grins and slaps him once more on the shoulder. “Good man,” he says jovially, starting off down the steps, calling back, “Listen, you and Cosette find out what he’d look for, and I’ll find you the girl. Until then, there’s nothing I can do but cheer you from the sidelines my friend,” and with that he salutes Marius and turns around to jog the rest of the stairs. Marius stares after him until he disappears into his car and pulls out of the parking lot.

***

He’s quiet that evening, and doesn’t even rise to the bait when his Aunt observes to his Grandfather how terrible it is to see children shuffled from place to place by their parents as they watch a news documentary of some sort.

Honestly things have been fairly strained ever since the blow out over the surname incident, wherein there had been plenty of insults traded on both sides. For the most part however he has managed to keep up at least an appearance of good grace and general cheerfulness in the short periods of time he has had to spend in their company.

His silence this evening therefore doesn’t go unnoticed, and certainly doesn’t go unchecked.  
“What in heaven’s name has come over you lately?” his Aunt queries, and if he didn’t know better he might have thought he heard a touch of genuine concern. When he looks up, however, he can see nothing but barely veiled irritation, and he grits his teeth, wishing he’d done as he has done the past few days and gone straight up to his room after dinner. He had been caught up in his thoughts and had simply left the table, only to lower himself into the first chair he came across.  
“Ah leave the boy alone Alaine,” snaps his Grandfather, who has yet to look away from the television screen, “He is of an age that is prone to periods of melancholy. No doubt it’s some silly girl or other. He’ll be over it presently and will return to us, no doubt with much more to say than we care to hear, be a good girl and allow us to enjoy the silence while it lasts,”  
If he were to think it over clearly, Marius might have noted the slight teasing lilt to his Grandfather’s tone and realised he was not being serious. Marius however has been caught by the words ‘some silly girl or other’ rather harder than the older gentlemen could have foreseen, and he is out of his chair in an instant, eyes blazing.

“Heavens, he rises,” exclaims his Grandfather, seemingly unaffected by this sudden movement.  
“You know nothing about me,” spits Marius, “Or about her!” he adds, finally getting a reaction as both his Aunt and his Grandfather look at him in surprise. The latter recovers the fastest, with a laugh.  
“Ah so it is a girl,” he chuckles to himself, as if he’s been invited into a private joke instead of chastised, “Well, then boy tell us of her. Does the earth move beneath your feet when she smiles? Has she the face of an angel and a voice to shake the foundations of heaven?” Though everything he says is something Marius has felt or thought himself of Cosette, Marius knows that he is being openly mocked, and his temper flares even further.

“We are in love!” the old man laughs again, but it is more bitter than before.  
“You are young, what do you know of love?” he asks, continuing before Marius can reply, he addresses Marius’ Aunt, “See now, this is what comes of a boy being pulled from pillar to post, never being allowed to settle, never able to do as normal young men do. He meets with one girl who seems interesting and rather than accept it as simply that, he believes himself in love. This is what happens when a boy has a romantic and a fool for a father. Next he will be telling me that he wishes to marry this young girl, move her away from her family, friends and all she knows, tour her around the world until she dies of it, and all in the name of love.” Aunt Alaine says nothing to this, seeming uncomfortable with the topic at hand.

“Sir!” exclaims Marius, and then, “Grandfather!”

His Grandfather turns to face him again, and the bitterness seems to have melted away at the word ‘grandfather’; he smiles. “Marius, come now be serious. You like this girl, whomever she is, I understand that, and I am sorry for what I said just now, I am old and foolish and I wish only that you will not repeat the follies of your parents. You have been here with us only a few weeks, and you come to us with declarations of love for some girl you cannot have known for more than that. Don’t be so quick to throw yourself away on such a girl, you are young and you have good looks and plenty of money at your disposal, courtesy of your old grandpa. If you wish to take this girl out and show her a good time that is good, young men should enjoy their youth – I was a young man myself once, if you’ll believe it, and it does not last – so yes I say, enjoy each other, but let it be nothing more than that,” Marius had been staring at him unblinking throughout this speech, he had moved through many emotions, pity for the man who lost his daughter, anger that he blamed his father, confusion on the point of simply showing Cosette ‘a good time’, it took him some time to realise what it was he was suggesting, and then he was livid.

“Sir,” Marius says again, formally, coldly, seeming to stand a foot taller and a century older, “You have insulted me, the girl that I love and, once again, my father, and I’m sick of it. I won’t stand here and take it any longer. Consider this my notice.” With that he turns on his heel and marches out of the room, he does not look back before slamming the door shut behind him, and misses the stricken look on his Grandfather’s face. He heads straight up the stairs and into his room where he begins to throw his belongings into the suitcase that has lain open since his arrival, as if anticipating this very moment.

He sends a text message to Courfeyrac, whom he knows has his own flat courtesy of his parents.  
  
 ** _Marius_** _: I need a place to stay..._

The reply is quick to arrive.

**_Courfeyrac_ ** _: You’re always welcome, mon ami._

He is glad that Courfeyrac does not question his reasons, though he suspects he is saving his interrogation for when Marius arrives on his doorstep; still he is relieved and grateful to have a place to stay. That established he drags his suitcase behind him out of his room, down the stairs and, pushing past his Aunt who makes a vague attempt to halt him in the hallway, he marches out of the house. He glances back only once, thinking he heard his name being shouted, but there is nobody at any of the doors or the windows, and so he turns away again and begins the short march to Courfeyrac’s home.

It’s late when he arrives there. He supposes it must have been late when he left the house, and he feels the vaguest stab of guilt when Courfeyrac shows him into his living room – where a camp bed has been set up – and notices the clock on the wall reads past eleven o’clock at night. Much as he isn’t particularly inclined to do his Aunt or, especially, his Grandfather any favours, he does pull his mobile phone and rings the house. His Aunt is the one who answers, and before she can make any demands he states simply that he has found a place to stay for now before hanging up and flopping down onto what is to be his bed for the foreseeable future; it bounces on its hinges and creaks loudly.

Courfeyrac, who has been hovering in the doorway the whole time seems, with hitherto unknown courtesy, to take this as a sign that Marius would much rather not face an interrogation right now; and he bustles around the room, finishing the hurried tidying he must have started when he got Marius’ text. He shows him the kitchen and the bathroom, and Marius has just enough room in his thoughts to wonder why exactly it is that Courfeyrac has moved out of his parent’s house. He doesn’t ask however, after all, Courfeyrac is respecting his privacy for the time being. He gets his things packed away in the hallway cupboard – the former contents of which have been dumped rather unceremoniously in the hallway itself – and then Courfeyrac bids him goodnight and heads into his own room.

Marius heads straight into his new bedroom, and this time lowers himself more carefully onto the camp bed; it still creaks somewhat. He stays sat there for some time, wondering if he hasn’t just been incredibly stupid. Normally he isn’t quite so spontaneous, but he had just been so angry he hadn’t really thought of what he was going to do after he had stormed out. He can’t, after all, infringe on Courfeyrac’s life indefinitely, but he also can’t stomach the idea of crawling back to his Grandfathers’ house; he isn’t even completely sure he’d be welcomed back. The only option left therefore, is to get his own place, and the only way to manage that would be to get himself a job; though he isn’t really qualified for anything, he thinks, surely there’s something somewhere that he can do?

He sighs loudly and stands up, forcing himself to actually get ready for bed and not to simply sleep in his clothes. He’ll figure something out, he thinks as he slips into his pyjamas. He’s going to have to, he thinks as he slides under the covers, and the camp bed groans from every spring. As he closes his eyes, he wonders what Cosette will think of his decision to walk out. She had thought he was really brave to stand up to his Grandfather before, and he smiles at the memory of their first meeting in the library. He hopes that she will think him brave this time, even if he doesn’t really feel it. It takes him a while to stop his brain buzzing, but eventually he manages to fall asleep, his last thought being Cosette’s reassuring smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to all the Gods and Goddesses and Father Christmas and well everyone basically that one day this will get to Enj and R meeting... I have this terrible terrible habit of making everything longer than it needs to be. That said, I hope you guys are still enjoying this, because I really enjoyed writing it, even if I was cursing myself the whole time... Please be patient with me. Xx


	8. In Which Cosette Wonders if it's Breaking In When it's You're Own Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette is going to be a great actress one day, but Marius will never be a cat-burglar.

It took a great deal of her not-inconsiderable acting talent to get both her brother and her Grandfather out of the house at the same time, without her, for long enough to begin the investigation. Getting either of them to leave wasn’t too much of a problem; Enjolras in particular had something planned for almost every single day of the week. The trouble was, his plans were often incredibly unpredictable, and he might either be out all day, or he might be frog-marched back up the path with a police escort and a slap on the wrist within an hour; depending on just how... energetic... his protests had become.  As for her Grandfather, being the mayor, he had a lot of public functions to go to; however he liked her to accompany him on these occasions. The rest of the time he liked to work mostly from home, a whole wing of their house had been cordoned off and made into offices for his staff. It was rare that these rooms were ever fully empty, and even when her Grandfather was busy in them, and her brother was out, her Grandfather’s particularly zealous secretary made frequent calls on her to ensure she was ‘well’.

A week and a half after Marius had babbled adorably at her over their German textbooks about this idea of Courfeyrac’s - that she didn’t have to go through with if she absolutely didn’t want to, and he could find another way to spend time with her if she still wanted to spend time with him, and if these ‘tutoring’ sessions were all they ever had well, that was fine because it was enough just to see her face every day; she cut him off there and agreed the plan was their best hope – she had finally found a way to make it work. She had spoken with Marius the day before – on the phone, on which he was listed simply as Mari – and everything was arranged. All that had remained was for her to play her part.

Her brother had a political meeting a town over, which guaranteed he’d be out well over three hours, even if the meeting did get broken up for whatever reason. Her Grandfather had a formal luncheon with a visiting ambassador, an incredibly important event in their town and not something he would be able to leave early; best of all his entire staff was going with him, including Ms Toussaint. The only problem was getting out of it herself, and she knew she would have to time and play her sudden ‘illness’ very well or else everything would be ruined. If she waited too long he would send her home with an escort, too soon and he would leave someone with her; the same if she overplayed it. So she waited until all the staff were bundled together in the provided town cars, and made a fuss of finding her favourite scarf in order to hang back. Only her Grandfather and Ms Toussaint remained in the house with her, and thankfully Toussaint left the house first to open the doors to their own car. Cosette had been complaining carefully about a headache all morning, just a mention at breakfast, a few pained looks and a touch to her forehead now and then. Now, as she steps out of the house she places her hand to her head again, she stops, blinks and sways, and throws her free hand out to clutch at the doorframe.

“Cosette?” her Grandfather is all concern and tender touches; taking her hand and allowing her to lean on him instead of the door. She breathes in deeply and scrunches her eyes closed for a moment, when she lets the breath go it’s ever so slightly shaky.  
“It’s fine,” she says softly, squeezing his hand slightly, “I’m fine,” she adds and starts to make her way across the porch.

 “Not at all,” he replies, halting her steps, and he places a hand on her forehead, “You’re flushed,” and she flushes slightly more. Well aware that the heat on her face is coming from the lie and not her phantom illness. “Perhaps it would be better for you to stay here,” he says and she shakes her head.  
“Don’t be silly, Papa,” she says, grimacing only slightly as if trying to hide her pain, “It’s just a headache,”  
“You barely touched your food this morning Cosette,” he replies, and she startles slightly at that. She hadn’t even noticed doing that herself, but she supposes she must have been more nervous about this little act of hers than she’d realised; at least it seems it has worked in her favour. “No, you should stay here,” he turns his head towards the cars out front, and she knows that he is going to ask Toussaint to come back.

“Maybe you’re right,” she says quickly, bringing his attention back to her momentarily, “I think it might be best if I just get some peace and quiet, maybe go back to sleep,” she squeezes his hand again with a small smile, “Please give the ambassador my apologies Papa, and have Ms Toussaint bring me back some of the food for later, I’ve heard that quite the feast has been prepared, and I would hate to miss it entirely,”

He looks like he might be about to say something, but she just smiles again, wincing ever so slightly and starts to head back into the house. For a moment his grip on her hand remains, and then her fingers slide through his and she’s free by the time she steps through the door.  
“Alright,” he says as she turns back to face him, he looks worried, and she’d feel guilty if she thought there was anything for him to _really_ worry about, “Remember...”

“Not to open the door to anyone,” she cuts him off softly, “I know Grandpa, don’t worry so much,” he smiles and nods, and she knows he’s not going to fight her on this, even if he still doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“Get some rest,” he says quietly, reaching out a hand to brush her hair from her forehead, “Be good,” he adds with a smile. She does feel a slight twinge of guilt when she responds “I always am,” and then he’s turning away and walking down to the car. She watches him from the door as he says something in a low voice to Toussaint, who looks worried and glances up at her; for a moment she wonders if he’ll send her back anyway, but he simply places a hand on her shoulder says something else and then both of them are stepping into the car. She waits until they start to pull away to close the door behind her, fully intending to keep her promise not to open it again as she races back through the house towards the kitchen.

* * *

 

Marius is beginning to think that this was perhaps not the best plan he’d ever made. He was already stiff from sleeping on Courfeyrac’s spare bed. It’s not so much that he regrets his decision to leave his Grandfather’s house, but he does rather regret not having enough money of his own to support himself. Courfeyrac had pointed him in the direction of an old bookshop in the centre of town that needed a sales person to help out on weekends, which had sounded ideal. Unfortunately the old man in charge had seemed more than a little senile, and while Marius is reasonably certain that he could do the job well, he wasn’t sure if the man even remembered he came by. In the mean time he can only wait to hear back – or not – and make the best of the situation he’s put himself in.

Needless to say, climbing over high fences and fighting through hedges and crouching in bushes has not precisely helped his aching limbs. However, it had all been necessary to ensure that none of Cosette’s neighbours saw him entering the house.

He shifts where he is crouched – rather uncomfortably – underneath the designated window, between the wall of the house and a large amount of greenery. He is rewarded with a sharp poke from a branch to the back of his head and he has to bite the side of his mouth to keep from yelping in surprise and pain, and announcing his presence in the mayor’s back garden. Getting in and hidden without being spotted had been hard enough; the last thing he needs is for a rose bush to startle him into giving himself away. He turns, very carefully, to glare at the offending plant.

“Marius?”

A voice comes from just above him and on recognising it as Cosette his head whips back around immediately in his haste to look up at her; this time he barely even registers the pain, and he leaps up from his hiding place when she beckons him up. She steps quickly back from the window to allow him to clamber clumsily through it. He almost falls through entirely, that thrice damned rose bush catching hold of the bottom of his jeans and trying to tug him back, but he manages to free himself and though his landing inside the house isn’t precisely graceful, he at least doesn’t end up sprawled on the floor. Finally certain that his balance isn’t going to give out, he straightens up and looks around; they’re stood in what seems to be a pantry of sorts. His gaze shifts to Cosette again and he beams at her, she matches his smile with a dazzling one of her own.

“I feel like I’m in a spy movie or something,” he says, and she laughs lightly at him, and plucks a couple of twigs and leaves from where they have tangled into his hair.  
“More like a comedy cop show,” she replies with a grin, “You look like you fell through a hedge backwards,” she’s teasing him, and he decides – for the sake of his remaining dignity – to not mention that he sort of did. She reaches out again, running her fingers carefully through his hair, and perhaps she’s just making sure there are no more bits of her garden tucked away in it but Marius blushes regardless, and when she catches his eye she does too; she moves her hand quickly back to her side and bites her bottom lip.

“Well, um,” she says after a moment, “We should probably hurry up. Papa thinks that I am unwell, so he’ll be back as soon as is polite, and if we want to do this properly we shouldn’t waste time,”

Marius nods, and begins to move immediately for the door, but stops when she yelps “No wait!” and she grips the back of his shirt to halt him in his tracks; she dashes around in front of him to take the door handle herself.

“Um, you’ll need to follow me, there are security camera’s in the kitchen and most of the living areas,” she explains, and ignores Marius’ raised eyebrow, “It’s only Don left in there, and he probably isn’t watching, but just in case, it’s probably best to stay out of them as much as possible. Follow me,” and with that, she opens the door and starts across the kitchen on a very specified route; Marius follows closely behind her.

“Okay,” he says quietly, as they pick their way across the living room, “Now we’re definitely in a spy movie. Your grandfather has security camera’s all over the house?” he asks.

“Well he is the mayor, and he can get really paranoid sometimes, and they’re only downstairs,” she replies.  
“And you know where all of them are?” she pauses, looks over her shoulder at him and grins, something mischievous and a little bit wild in her eyes.

“And how to avoid them all,” she says, and Marius isn’t sure whether he should be worried by her tone. They continue on their quest in silence after that.

“Okay,” she says, her voice low, as the finally reach the entrance hall, “The stairs are pretty much fully covered, so I’m going to go distract Don. When you hear me coughing, go up the stairs as quickly and quietly as you can,” he nods his agreement, and she grins again and starts to make her way across the room, opening a door at the other end and disappearing through, closing it behind her.

Almost as soon as he is left alone in a hall that rivalled his own grandfathers in size, he feels an odd tickling sensation around his nose and curses silently to himself. Of course, he thinks bitterly, summoning all his self control, ‘I spend an hour and a half scaling trees and walls and crawling through undergrowth and not a thing, but put me inside a clean hallway across from the only security guard and suddenly my allergies decide to play up,’ he tries to think of ways to prevent it, ‘Is looking into bright light supposed to help you stop sneezing, or make you sneeze when you need to…?’ He decides not to chance it, and thankfully just then is when a series of loud coughs filter through the closed door and he simply holds his breath hoping that will help as he slowly and carefully starts to make his way up the staircase.

He doesn’t let the breath out until he’s reached the top of the stairs and moved a few steps down the hallway, and the sneeze comes with it at the same moment as Cosette comes back through the door and lets it bang shut behind her. A few seconds later, she rounds the corner on the stairs and dashes up the remaining steps, giggling softly all the way.

“He was watching Rugby anyway,” she says quietly through her laughter, and she’s slightly out of breath and flushed a brilliant shade of pink; either from running up the stairs or remaining from what sounded like a fit of coughs. Marius smiles at her and she turns an even brighter shade.  
“Come on,” she says, grabbing his hand and tugging him down the corridor. They pass several other doors on their way, and one decorated with swirling patterns of flowers and leaves and birds catches Marius attention; Cosette walks them on just a little faster. The door they stop outside of instead is entirely plain, not so much as a ‘do not disturb’ sticker, which now Marius thinks about it, is probably not even necessary for Enjolras. They stand there for a few seconds in silence.

“Here goes,” says Cosette eventually, though it takes another few seconds for her to actually reach for the doorknob. She turns it carefully, as if she thinks that it might explode if she’s too forceful; and then it’s done and the door swings open.

Marius isn’t sure what he was expecting. Actually if he’s honest he hadn’t really given the room itself that much thought, so really he probably wasn’t ‘expecting’ anything in particular. Still, as the room appears before him he stares at it in shock.

The room is huge, like the rest of the house, so that really isn’t at all surprising. What is a surprise is that somehow, despite its size, every square inch, excepting a sort of path from the doorway to the desk and from the desk to the bed, is piled high with a clutter of clothes and papers and books and all manner of other things. Maybe he hadn’t had any expectations per say, but to his mind, there was no way to reconcile this mess with his image of Enjolras. He always seemed so carefully put together and organised. Marius glanced at Cosette to see if perhaps she was as surprised as him, perhaps Enjolras had just had a really bad week… month? How many books and journals did one high school student need anyway? Cosette simply looked resigned, which suggested this was not a one off occurrence, and a sigh escaped her as she gazed around.

“Um,” she says after a moment, “He can be a bit forgetful,”

“Forgetful?” asks Marius incredulous.

“As in, he forgets he has this thing called storage space. He just gets so caught up in whatever he’s doing he just abandons things.” She huffs slightly, looking around with a frown, “He’ll just let it build until it falls on him or something and then he does a kind of blitz clean up. We have a maid, but after a few weeks of… this,” she waves her hand at the mess for emphasis, “Well she just point blank refused to continue cleaning in here unless he’d tidied up,” Marius can’t say that he blames the woman.  
“I’m fairly certain that he knows where everything is, probably more by muscle memory than anything though,” she sighs again, “I really didn’t think it would be this bad already. He only tidied it three days ago,”

Marius stared around him in utter amazement. He wouldn’t precisely call himself tidy, but he simply couldn’t imagine how anybody could create such a build up of random stuff in just three days.

“This makes things a little more difficult,” he says absently, and Cosette nods at him, looking apologetic on her brother’s behalf; although, to be fair to Enjolras, he wasn’t to know his sister and her not-boyfriend were going to want to carefully examine his life in order to pick out a suitable candidate to date him. Even if he did know, he certainly wouldn’t be inclined to tidy up to make it easier for them, he’d probably punch Marius on the nose and not speak to Cosette for the remainder of the school year. The two of them stand in the doorway looking around the bombsite of a bedroom in silence until the old grandfather clock in the hallway chimes the hour and makes them both jump.

Cosette is the one to shake herself and she strides into the room; Marius follows quickly after her, just remembering to pull the door closed, softly, behind him.

“Right,” Cosette announces to the room, looking around again, but with purpose this time, “We’ll just have to do the best we can, and try to put things back where we find them,” Marius decides not to voice the opinion that that is probably easier said than done. “So,” she starts again, “You start where you are now, and I’ll start over at this end and if you find anything that you think might be significant just tell me and I’ll do the same. Then we can try to put together an idea of someone who might suit him,”

Marius just nods again, because really there’s not a lot to say to any of this, he kneels down in the small clear area by the door and begins pulling various items out of the pile and making a mental note of book titles and newspaper articles.

For a long time they go about their careful exploration of the room in silence, most of what is scattered on the floor relates somehow to politics and various movements throughout the centuries, telling them essentially what they already know; that Enjolras is a bit of an activist.  
“Anti-this sign, anti-that sign, rally pamphlets… oh look, a pro sign… novel,” Cosette mutters to herself, shaking her head with every new discovery, “I mean I knew he was involved in a lot of stuff, but really this is just silly,” Marius agrees from his own side of the room, which is closer to the desk and cluttered with books on politics and various historical revolutions and the evolution of the civil rights movement and feminism and a hundred other topics that make his head spin just reading the titles. All in all not particularly helpful.

“What does he expect to achieve from all this?” asks Marius, carefully levering up an old cardboard sign, that looks as though it has been painted over and reused several times, in order to look underneath.

“You’re asking me to explain the inner workings of my brother’s thousand track, cause driven mind? Unlikely” says Cosette, with amusement, “Honestly; I don’t think Enjolras really knows what he’s doing half the time. I think… I’m pretty sure he just feels like he always has to be doing _something_ ,” she adds sounding resigned, Marius just nods, and they pass a few more minutes silently sifting. Marius is frankly rather surprised that Enjolras hasn’t done himself or anyone else an injury, and he wonders if it was ever this bad on the rare occasions that Courfeyrac had been allowed access; he might have warned him if it had.

“Oh!” Cosette pipes up, and he jerks his head around, but she just looks a little sheepish and holds up a plush toy of a white dog, “Sorry, we got matching ones when we were kids, I didn’t know he still had it,” she looks down at the dog fondly; it looks a little battered and worn, probably from being buried under books and leaflets and God knows what else every week. Marius can’t help but smile slightly at it, it is cute, and he can imagine that Cosette’s is just as worn rather more from cuddling than from neglect. Still that it’s there at all shows a level of sentimentality that he might not have written Enjolras down as having; at least he hasn’t attached a protest sign to its paw.

After almost half an hour of carefully digging up and replacing items in their piles, they’ve finally started to make some headway. Marius has made his way right up onto the desk, and amongst the mountain of leaflets for protests and causes he’d long since given up on reading the titles of, he has found a couple of small leather bound books with poetic titles. A quick flick through had told him that firstly they had been given to Enjolras by Jehan for various birthdays, and secondly that they were rather more well read than he thought Enjolras would ever admit to. Given the highly romantic nature of the poems inside he relays this to Cosette who positively beams.  
“Here hand one over, I’m going to memorise something and freak him out later,”  
Marius laughs lightly, shaking his head, but he lets one of the books fall open at one of its most used pages and passes it carefully over to Cosette, who buries her nose in it immediately.

When they have finished with the main part of the floor, Marius moves on to some of the cupboards, shelves and drawers; though he draws a line at underwear, Enjolras could keep whatever secrets he might or might not have hidden in the back of that drawer. Cosette laughed at him when he pulled a face and slammed the drawers shut, but she also made no move to investigate herself. Most of the shelves hold a surprisingly neatly arranged array of objects, ranging from classic novels to picture frames – with some rather amusing pictures of ‘The Friends’ at various ages – to ornaments and something round and fluffy practically hidden behind everything else. It was clear that these were mostly gifts, barely touched but still kept constantly within reach; again it rings with a sentimentality that humanises Enjolras, and Marius finds himself a little less daunted by the thought of him. In some of the pictures he is even smiling along with his friends.

The cupboards are mainly filled with clothes thrown haphazardly inside, with a few jackets and waistcoats on coat-hangers, though opening one door reveals a fairly old CD player.  
“Is it on standby?” Cosette asks from where she has tucked herself almost entirely into the space under the bed. He looks at the player and notices a little red light, giving her the affirmative.  
“Good,” she says distractedly, clearly trying to reach a specific something, “That means he actually uses it. Do you see any CDs?” Marius opens the door below the CD player and finds a small rack of CD cases, and he grabs the little notebook Cosette had run back to her room to retrieve so that they could make note of anything important. He quickly jots down the names of some bands and artists and really it’s the closest they have come so far to making any kind of headway since the discovery of the poetry books.

“Ah ha!” Cosette’s voice is triumphant, and Marius watches as she carefully extracts herself from beneath the bedframe, pulling with her a small wooden box. “I knew he’d still have this, if he still has Belle,”  
“Belle?”  
Cosette smiles fondly and reaches over to pick up the little white dog from earlier, “Like from the kid’s book, Belle and Sébastien,” when Marius just continues to look confused she gasps loudly, “You never read it?” Marius shakes his head. His father had never really been one for fantasy books and children’s stories.

“It was our favourite book when we were little. I guess it sort of resonated…” she says quietly, “Papa had to read it to us countless times. When we found out we were allergic to dog hair I cried for almost an hour, so he bought us one of these each,” she smiles down at the little dog, stroking its head as though it were real, and Marius isn’t sure what to say. He makes a mental note to find the book at the library and read it; it seems so important to Cosette after all, and he wants more than anything to be able to share that with her. “I really thought he’d forgotten,” she says after a few moments of silence, and when Marius sees tears gathering in her eyes he crosses the room and practically throws himself down beside her to take her face gently in his hands.  
“How could he ever forget something he shared with you?” he says.

She blinks at him, and two stray tears roll down her cheeks; he carefully brushes them away. They stay that way for several seconds, simply staring into each other’s eyes, and the world slows the way it did in the cafeteria – was that really only two weeks ago? – the seconds that pass melt into eternity, the room around them narrowing until they exist only in each other’s eyes, and it’s only when a car horn blares outside that they both break apart, jumping so violently that Marius falls backwards and knocks over a pile of books.

They scramble to their feet, and both are flushing a deep red as they survey the damage. The books have spread out across one of the few clear patches of floor, and though he’s fairly sure he was the one to go through them, Marius can’t remember for the life of him the order in which they were piled. Besides which, some of them have knocked into several other piles and created a sort of disastrous domino effect; if there was ever any order to the chaos, it certainly doesn’t exist anymore.  
“Um,” is all Marius can manage to say.

“Maybe it’s fine,” says Cosette, not sounding entirely convinced, “Maybe he’ll just think it fell over by itself?”

Marius nods, because there’s not a lot they can do about it now anyway. If they tried to put it back it would probably only make the whole thing look even more suspicious.

“We’ll just leave it,” he says decisively, then swallows, “But um, maybe we should leave it at this before we do anymore damage,”

Cosette nods and places Belle, whom she had been clutching at the whole time, back underneath the thankfully undamaged pile where she had found her. She then kneels back down and picks up the little box she had found under the bed. She stares at it contemplatively, apparently unsure whether to simply put it back or look inside.

“What is it?” Marius can’t help but ask, and she looks up at him.

“Um,” she seems to survey him for a moment, the she looks back at the box, and he notices her grip on it tightens just slightly. Whatever is inside is probably very personal, and he holds up a hand, “It’s fine,” he says with a smile and she sends him an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “It’s just… if it were mine, I’d share it with you in a moment, but…” she trails off and Marius understands completely.

“I’ll wait outside,” he says quietly, and she smiles at him and reaches one hand out to grasp his.  
“Thank you,” she says, and he nods squeezes her hand gently, before breaking away and making his way cautiously back across the room, careful not to create anymore mess as he makes his way towards the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is sort of here... in spirit... there's lots of cutsey little insights into his life at least.


	9. In Which Cosette Makes Some Discoveries and Marius Makes His Escape. {Cosette}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's delve a little more into Enjolras' privacy shall we.

She waits until the door has clicked shut behind him to sit herself down gently on the bed and place the box on her lap. The lid is beautifully decorated, hand painted and an almost exact replica of the one that takes pride of place on her desk. She runs her fingers over the wood, the swirling patterns of flowers and birds that she had spent hours replicating on her bedroom door, and she feels herself tearing up again. She shakes her head to clear it; it’s never done any good to cry about it before, it won’t do any good now. So instead she sets her jaw, determinedly staving off the tears, and gently pulls the lid off the box, placing it down beside her on the bed as she peers inside.

It’s more full than she had been expecting, meaning he’s still adding to it from time to time. She had thought from the way it had been tucked away that he’d long since forgotten it, but then she’s made a lot of unexpected discoveries about her brother today; and she’s more torn than ever over whether it was a good idea to invade his privacy this way. On the one hand, she knows that it’s not right to sneak around like this, in his life, without his permission, but on the other hand… Enjolras is so distant these days, and she hates feeling so disconnected from him. He’s her twin brother after all. After this morning she feels like she finally knows him again, knows that despite every effort to pretend otherwise, deep down he’s the same as he’s always been. It’s comforting, and she smiles as she carefully lifts the items from the box, making sure to remember exactly what was where.

First come a couple of clippings from pamphlets from some of his more successful rallies, and she laughs lightly to herself, because of course those are what he would consider ‘precious memories’, but next comes a folded scrap of paper with words scrawled haphazardly across it; she recognises Jehan’s handwriting immediately, but the words are completely unknown to her. She considers herself a bit of a poetry wiz, having spent many a rainy day tucked away in the family library, and perhaps Jehan is more knowledgeable than her but, she thinks she can recognise an original work when she sees it. She’s a little shocked. It’s very rare that Jehan will put his words to paper, to anything that might be saved or copied from. He once told her he likes that his poems have a limited time in the world, “It’s like they have a life of their own,” he had said softly, as he had pencilled words onto the underside of a library desk, “It might be long, or short, but it always ends.” The words on the page infront of her sing of the desire for freedom, and love, and equality; and she smiles as she reads it. She can imagine Enjolras reading them with the conviction that some things must never end. She carefully folds it back up, placing it on top of the pamphlet clippings and continues.

There are a few items she doesn’t understand, and she supposes they must be more reminders of his causes or of days with his friends that she played no part in. Then come a couple of concert tickets that she knows Courfeyrac must have had a hand in if the band names are anything to go by; she doesn’t remember Enjolras ever mentioning going to concerts, but then, he doesn’t really tell her anything anymore.

There are a couple more slips of paper with various scrawlings on them, but the words are in Latin, and she can’t read them; and then a few photographs of him and his friends at one demonstration or another. After these she finally comes to something she recognises.

It’s another photograph, again from a rally, but it is not of him or his band of revolutionaries; it’s of her. She is several years younger, smiling brilliantly at the camera and holding her fingers in a peace sign; and she should probably feel embarrassed about that but she just grins, picking the photograph up and looking on the back ‘Cosette: Women’s Rights Rally T---- 2009’ is written in her brothers careful script. They were thirteen, and Enjolras had been sneaking out of the house to attend various demonstrations for months already, and Cosette, confined to the house, had launched into a tirade about how unfair it was of him to just leave her behind and how just because she was a girl shouldn’t mean she should be treated like a glass doll by everyone. He had simply grinned at her and the very next day he had announced to her and their Grandfather that he was taking her out shopping; much to both their surprise. He had, in fact, taken her on the bus to join a march for women’s rights. By then they had already started drifting apart, but for that one day they were as close as they had been as children, laughing and shouting and marching together. They had been picked up by a police inspector who recognised them as the Mayor’s children, and had been driven home in a squad car, both so delirious from their adventures that even the angry lecture from their Grandfather had not dampened their spirits. They had stayed up all night talking about the rally and the cause in general, and she realises suddenly that she hasn’t known Enjolras smile as much as that around her in years since.

She sighs, turning the photo back over in her hands and staring at her smiling face; Enjolras had been smiling when he took the photo too, she remembers. “It’s your first march,” he had said, holding the camera up, “You have to remember it!” and she had laughed and thrown up the peace sign as he’d snapped the picture. Thinking back on it now, she realises that Enjolras telling her she could tag along with him to various meetings and rallies if she wanted to get out of the house might not have been entirely him being unthinking or uncaring. Perhaps he had even been hopeful; had simply been trying to recapture something of that first day they’d marched together. If it’s in this box then it was obviously a treasured memory, and she feels bad that it has long since slipped her mind. She wonders suddenly if it had hurt him when she had started refusing to go along – sometimes quite rudely – seemingly preferring to remain in the house alone than stand beside him. Perhaps he hasn’t been the only one distancing himself, she thinks. It isn’t exactly her fault that she didn’t turn out to be as much of an activist as he is, but she resolves to herself to be more sensitive about it in future. She places the picture down with the rest of the items and carries on, feeling all at once better and worse about this entire venture.

She’s getting down towards their childhood now, and there are trinkets and drawings and even a stone; the origin of which she couldn’t even guess at. Not much, in short, to tell her anything she didn’t already know, but plenty to make her tear up all over again at the memories; happy memories though, for the most part. She very nearly loses all composure when she recognises one of the ‘early works’ that she had painted and given to him for their fifth birthday. Still, she reaches the bottom of the box with no new discoveries related to her general mission, and she’s already carefully replaced almost everything inside it when she remembers the small secret compartment at the back of the box. She only knows it’s there because she has her own; inside it she keeps a little locket with a curl of her mother’s hair tucked inside.

She places the rest of the items back inside, puts the lid back on the box, and turns it around in her lap, squeezing gently at the edges just so to make the little square of wood pop outwards and fold down. Inside is a little black velvet jewellery box, much like the one she has, if a little smaller, and she doesn’t remember Enjolras ever mentioning having been given any of their mother’s jewellery. She pulls the little box out carefully, and it really is far smaller than hers, more square shaped; like a ring box. Her eyes widen slightly, and she quickly pops open the lid, already sure she knows what’s inside; and she smiles gleefully when she realises she’s right.

Once she’s placed the box back underneath the bed and managed to extricate herself out from under the bed without adding further disruption to her brother’s admittedly already pretty disrupted bedroom, Cosette skips carefully across the floor to the door. She surveys the room one last time, and really it’s not that unlikely that something teetered over because a door elsewhere in the house was slammed too hard or something. Wincing slightly and hoping against hope that Enjolras will come back distracted from his protest and simply won’t notice the difference she pulls open the door, taking Marius by surprise; and he nearly falls back into the room on top of her. He keeps his balance, though barely, and with a lot of flailing limbs and a barely suppressed yelp, and it’s all she can do to keep herself from giggling.

She slips past him, holding her breath, pulls the door gently closed behind her and goes tip-toeing down the corridor again, beckoning him to follow; and the two of them slip into her room without so much as a hiccup; or a sneeze for that matter.

Once safely inside however, Cosette’s giggles get the better of her, and she has to lean on her desk chair to keep steady as she tries to calm herself down again. It wasn’t really that funny, and she feels a little bad seeing Marius’ confused expression, but she supposes the tension of the whole day has partly caught up to her, and really, he did look funny flailing around like that. Come to think of it, he’d had the same look when he fell into that pile of books, and when he’d nearly fallen flat on his face coming in through the window earlier, and it’s never occurred to her before just how adorably awkward he is.

“Are you okay?” he asks, when after several minutes she is still shaking slightly with laughter, and she snorts lightly and takes a deep calming breath, holding up a hand to signal that she’s fine; only to dissolve back into what are quickly becoming hysterics. Marius is starting to look a little panicked by the time she finally gets herself back together again.

“Sorry,” she chokes slightly, breathing deeply several times to steady herself, “Sorry, nervous laughter I guess,” and it’s mostly true she thinks.

He accepts the excuse, if a little unsurely, with a slow nod. “It’s been that kind of day,” he says, and she nods herself in agreement. They stand for a few moments in complete silence, and it should probably feel more strained than it does, but Cosette can never seem to feel anything but relaxed and happy around Marius.

“Did you find anything?” he asks after a moment, and she grins and nods again, more enthusiastically this time.

“Yes,” she says, “But let’s do this properly, we’ll go through the notebook, and then I’ll tell you,” he gives her a slightly confused look, but agrees and she smiles and moves across the room to seat herself cross legged on top of her bed; gesturing for him to do the same. It registers, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she has a boy in the house, in her room, and that almost nobody else is there, and certainly nobody knows he’s there; and that there might under most circumstances be cause to feel guilty about that. However, the thought occurs for only a half second, really just a barely there notion, and perhaps she would have taken more time to consider it had anything inappropriate been entertained by either of them. As it was, both enjoyed each other’s company itself so much and found more than enough happiness in simply being around each other, that anything anyone – her Grandfather for instance – might deem ‘inappropriate’ had not even crossed their minds. So Marius took a seat cross-legged opposite her, and pulled the little notebook out from his pocket; flipping it open to the first page.

“We have the poetry books on his desk to start with,” he says, “obviously pretty well read, but we can’t guarantee they weren’t second hand,”

“Jehan does have a love for old charity bookshops,” Cosette agrees, nodding, “But the fact that they were on his desk and not thrown in a cupboard or on the floor suggests he has been reading them at least a little,”

“Could be for an English project,” says Marius, “We have a poetry section on our final exam this year,”

“Yes I suppose so, still let’s call it potential evidence for a deeply hidden romantic side,” she replies with a laugh, “What’s next?”

“Amongst his mountains of leaflets I found quite a lot about the smoking ban,”

“I can definitely vouch for him hating smoking,” she says, rolling her eyes slightly and pressing a hand to the side of her head as she remembered several extremely long winded rants about having to put up with second hand smoke.

Marius nods and jots something down on the notepad, “Right, so non-smoker then,” he says with a smile, “That’s a start I guess,”

She smiles back, “Best add ‘doesn’t drink too much’ to that list as well now I think about it, I found some stuff about teetotalism in one of my piles, and now I think about it, I’ve never seen him touch a drop,” Marius nods and continues scribbling on the notepad.

“Right okay,” he says as he finishes writing and slides the pen down the page to the next item on his list, “So, I know we said ‘not politically motivated’ but I think we should probably make sure they’re pretty liberal at least,”

“Or else he’ll probably just try to convert them and they’ll end up hating each other, yes,” she agrees with a sigh.

“So, yeah, politically liberal,”

“He’s pretty big on feminism from what I can tell,” Cosette says, as she thinks back again to that day five years ago when the two of them had marched together, and she smiles softly as she remembers him discussing issues passionately with a group of women who had taken it upon themselves to look after them. “So we’re probably looking for a girl who’s quite independent and strong minded; someone who’ll challenge him a little,”

“There weren’t any posters or magazines or anything like that so…” he trails off, but Cosette picks up where he’s heading with the observation.

“Appearance probably isn’t going to matter much.” She says quickly, and Marius looks relieved that he doesn’t have to bring it up himself, “Enjolras barely notices his own appearance most days, I don’t think he cares too much about others,” and honestly the number of times she’s had to send him back up to his room because he’s tried to leave for school still wearing his pyjama’s in the morning, or has had to either battle with his flyaway curls or bully him into having a haircut, or attacked him with face-wipes after a demonstration-gone-wrong. Really it’s ridiculous, and she can only hope they actually find someone he’ll like and who’ll like him because she has no intention of following him around making sure he looks decent for the rest of his life.

“Right, so, not a concern,” says Marius, crossing something out on the page and turning it over, “Um, so the CD’s I found were mostly of the Alternative Rock Band persuasion… but there was a bit of Classical too, which is a bit of weird mix but at least it gives us some leverage,”

“I’ve never even heard music coming from his room,” she says rolling her eyes, “If it didn’t mean revealing that I’d been digging around in his room I’d give him a talk on how to be an actual alternative rock loving teenager,” Marius snorts at that.

“Yeah he doesn’t really strike me as the type,” he says, and he’s right, Enjolras certainly doesn’t seem the type, but the little she knows about some of the band names she sees when she leans over to get a look at the list Marius has made would suggest it has more to do with the revolutionary nature of the song names and lyrics and less to do with the actual music. “Anyway,” Marius continues, “That’s pretty much all I’ve got. It’s not a huge amount to go on, but maybe Courfeyrac can work with it.” He sighs, deflating slightly and places the notebook down, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the ceiling, “To be honest, I’m starting to wonder if this will even work,” he says after a moment of silence, and it’s weird to see him look defeated on the matter; after all he had been the one to convince her it might be possible in the first place. She tilts her head to one side in question  when he looks down at her again, and he huffs out a breath of air and explains, “It’s just, there’s nothing really to suggest he’s particularly interested in, or interested in being interested in well, anyone. I mean is he…” he pauses, and Cosette raises an eyebrow and tries to repress a smile; he’s being adorably awkward again.

“I mean he’s not aromantic asexual or anything right?” he asks, all in a rush.

She does smile then, but shakes her head, “No, I don’t think so, not aromantic anyway,” she says, and he sighs again, a little in relief this time. “I mean, he’s never actually mentioned anything but… well that sort of brings me to what I found.” She continues, and her smile stretches until she’s grinning from ear to ear and she’s bouncing slightly in her seat, and Marius looks at her expectantly for several seconds before she carries on.

“I found our Grandmother’s wedding ring,” she says, and apparently it’s not quite the indisputable proof that this wasn’t all for naught to Marius as it was to her because whilst he looks vaguely interested, he’s not exactly cart wheeling around the room.

“It was in the little box… we… they were our mothers, she made them before she had us,” she hops off the bed and heads to her desk, and picking up the almost identical box sat in the centre she brings it back and sits opposite Marius again, “They’re for happy memories. Things that we want to cherish forever, and at the back here,” she shows him, “There’s a little compartment, for our most precious thing, and that’s where I found it,”

Marius still doesn’t look as happy and convinced by this news as she thinks he should do, in fact he seems a little unsure.

“Well?” she prompts, determined to draw him out to explain himself, and he shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well,” he echoes after a moment, “Well, I mean it could just be that… I mean, it was your Grandmother’s, maybe that’s why it’s so special…”

Cosette huffs through her nose and frowns and he recoils slightly, but the sudden burst of annoyance, as ever around him, doesn’t last very long and her frown morphs into a small smile instead, “No see, we never even knew our Grandmother,” she says, “And the ring never… well mother was never even engaged, so that’s not it either,” she blushes slightly, glancing down at her lap, but when she looks up Marius seems entirely unbothered by the news about her mother and her smile widens, “See the thing is, traditionally the ring passes down to the eldest child, or their fiancé to be to give to them, Enjolras was born first so, Grandfather must have given him the ring,” she continues with renewed vigour, “Well, there’s absolutely no way that he would keep it and tuck it safely away like that, if he never intended to use it. He’d give it back to Grandfather, or give it to me himself, but he did keep it, and that means he wants to get married someday, and that means…” she lets the sentence hang, and Marius is quick to take the bait.

“This definitely wasn’t for nothing,” he finishes with a grin, and she nods, grinning from ear to ear and biting her bottom lip in her excitement. Marius reaches forwards on an impulse and grips her hands as he had before, and that very, very small part of her mind that reminds her that she should be feeling guilty about all this suddenly increases slightly in volume for a moment. It is, however, drowned out by the sound of her heartbeat in her ears and the sight of his smile and the warmth of his hands, and when nothing further happens it recedes again. The Grandfather clock in the hallway chimes the hour, and Cosette is shocked to find that over three hours have passed since she first let him in through the window; it hadn’t felt that long at all.

“We should probably smuggle you out,” she says quietly, stroking her thumbs over the tops of his hands, reluctant to admit that by now her Grandfather is probably worrying considerably over his decision to leave her alone and will almost certainly be sending Ms Toussaint to check on her. Marius just nods, apparently just as reluctant to leave. It’s a few minutes of sitting silently together neither wanting to make a move to leave before Cosette sighs and swings off the bed, only letting go of one hand, and using the other to pull him along with her. “No really we should…” and she trails off as the sound of a door opening and closing echoes through the household. They both freeze.  
“Could be your security guy…” Marius whispers hopefully, though not sounding much like he believes it. Cosette’s grip on his hand was dropped the instant the sound was heard, though his did not, and she has to shake her own hand free in order to cross alone to her bedroom door. Pulling it quietly open, pausing only to look back at Marius and raise a finger to her lips, before slipping out and moving silently down the corridor.

“Any disturbances?” Ms Toussaint’s voice is heard clearly, obviously talking to Don, and she buries her face briefly in her hands before turning around as Don replies, “Not a peep”. She hurries back along the corridor and into her room as quietly as she can, and finds Marius standing in the middle of the room looking utterly lost. “It’s Ms Toussaint,” she hisses, “Papa must have sent her to check up on me,” Marius’ eyes go wide as they both hear the sounds of someone making their way up the stairs. Cosette shoots forward and grabs Marius by the elbow, dragging him quickly across the room.  
“You’ll have to hide in the wardrobe,”

 “What?”

“Just…” she looks around at her door nervously, wringing her hands together as the steps get closer. “There’s nowhere else, please!” she whispers imploringly, and thankfully Marius makes no more protests but pulls the wardrobe doors open and somehow manages to fit himself between rows of shoes and hanging clothes. She swings the door shut on him muttering a very sincere apology and feeling terrible and then races across the room to pull her curtains closed and somehow manages to dive onto her bed and pull her duvet up to her face just as the knock comes at the door.  
“Miss Cosette?” Ms Toussaint does not wait for her to answer before she pushes the door open slowly and peers inside. Cosette closes her eyes and tries to keep her breathing steady; which is no easy task when her heart is pumping so fast she feels as though she just ran a marathon. The seconds during which Ms Toussaint hovers in the doorway are agonising, and Cosette has visions ranging from her being able to hear Cosette’s heart beating furiously demanding to know why she was faking sleep, to Marius falling out of the wardrobe and erasing the need for questions. Somehow, miraculously, however, she manages to maintain the façade of sleep until the light from the doorway recedes and her door clicks shut quietly; footsteps move away from the doorway and she lets out a long breath and throws the covers back off.

“Okay,” she hisses at the door of the wardrobe, and it swings carefully open as she crosses the room to her curtains, pulling them gently open again and gazing out at the back garden.

“I’m so sorry,” she glances back at Marius, who – bless him – looks terrified and very ashamed of himself, and she smiles. After all it’s not all his fault, it may have been his idea but she’d agreed to it, and really there was no reason for him to have snuck in in the first place; she could just as easily have searched her brother’s room by herself. The fact was, she had wanted to spend this time with him, brief and covert though it had been. “It’s fine,” she says quietly, reaching out to take his hand in hers again; he squeezes her fingers gently.

“Now what?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at her closed bedroom door. Ms Toussaint’s heels can be heard clicking over the hallway floor. She bites her lip and looks out of the window again; there’s a large tree practically hugging the wall just outside, and she glances slightly sheepishly at poor clumsy awkward Marius. “How er… how are your tree climbing skills?” she asks timidly, and watches as his gaze jerks towards the tree; the grip on her fingers tightens somewhat.

“Um,” he says, and she sees him swallow and feels suddenly terrible. What if he’s afraid of heights or something, what if he were to fall and hurt himself, and what if on doing so he was caught? Oh what would her Grandfather do? Probably have him thrown in prison or something equally dramatic, no matter what Cosette told him he would be furious. She starts to tell Marius that it’s fine, that she can cause a distraction downstairs and he can slip out the way he came, but he shakes his head firmly and with one last reassuring squeeze to her hand, he steps away towards the window, unlocks the side closest to the tree, and pulls it slowly and quietly upwards.

“Marius, really it’s…” she starts to say, because he’s just trying to be brave and keep her out of trouble, and she shouldn’t have gotten so carried away with the time, and if he dies it will all be  her fault; but he already has one foot out of the window and an arm reaching to grasp the tree trunk. She rushes over to the window in order to help, letting him grab her arm to steady himself as he pulls his second leg out of the window and gets himself balanced on what is thankfully a particularly sturdy branch.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly, leaning out of the window. He tests his weight carefully on the branch, and nods, his expression still slightly unsure.

“You want to go down to that one next, and sort of go around in a spiral,” she says, pointing out what she knows from past experience is the best way to get down safely to the ground. She rarely does so, she’s often quickly missed from the house, and there is usually more security around, but occasionally being shut up indoors aside from school takes its toll and she’s needed an hour or two of solitude, away from everything. Marius nods again at her instructions but doesn’t speak. Whether he’s worried he’ll be overheard, or whether he’s simply too scared to use his voice she doesn’t know, but quite suddenly he reaches his free arm back towards her and places it gently on the back of her neck. Again he doesn’t say anything, but he stares imploringly into her eyes and it’s that same feeling of timelessness all over again. She feels her face flush and her heart begins to race again, and really she’s going to have to get that seen too because it can’t be healthy, and then she’s nodding and leaning slightly out of the window again and her eyes slide closed.

There’s a crack like a gunshot, and Marius’ hand on her neck is gone and her eyes fly open again and he’s a foot away hugging the tree trunk like his life depends on it, eyes wide and face pale, breathing wildly. She holds a hand to her heart and tries to get her own breath back as she recovers from the shock. Glancing down she notes that the branch has cracked slightly at the thinner end close to her window and curses the stupid thing. Taking another couple of steadying breaths she wordlessly points at it, and Marius’ gaze follows. Apparently reassured that he isn’t in imminent danger of falling the length of a two story building anymore, he lets out a sigh of relief and glances at her with an apologetic smile. She returns it, and makes a shooing motion with her hands. She’s fairly sure the rest of the branch will hold, but with the luck they’ve had today she wouldn’t want to bet his life on it. He hesitates for just a moment, but when she urges “Go!” with whispered conviction he nods and turns himself around to begin his descent.

It’s torturously slow, and it’s clear that Marius was not a child who often indulged in tree climbing, or any kind of climbing, or probably outdoor sports in general, but eventually – mercifully – he makes it all the way to the ground without any further incidents, and has the common sense to disappear immediately into the bushes lining the house. Cosette has to lean almost her whole upper body to see him, and he gives her one last slightly shaky smile and a wave before he starts his journey back the way he came in. She loses sight of him fairly quickly, and sighs, leaning back into her room and pulling the window carefully back down again and locking it. She could only hope now that he managed to get out with as little incident as he got in, and she feels suddenly incredibly tired.

Pulling the curtains shut again, she makes her way back over to her bed and crawls inside it, hardly able to believe that only minutes ago she had been sat on it talking with Marius, grinning from ear to ear. She can’t get the memory of his hand in hers out of her head, and she feels tears springing to her eyes when she thinks of how that shouldn’t be so rare or hard to believe. Moments like that were surely what being a teenager in love were supposed to be about all the time… but not for her. She rolls over and buries her head in her pillow, sighing into it and hoping that Marius is still okay. The movement downstairs seems to have stopped, and surely there would be some sort of fuss if Don had spotted Marius on the security camera’s in the back garden. She starts going over the list of things the two of them had discovered that afternoon, but about halfway through she gets lost in the image of Marius’ goofy smile, and his adorable flailing and she wonders when it was they ended up back at school in the library surrounded by pamphlets.

By the time her Grandfather returns and comes to check on her, she’s been fast asleep for almost an hour.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should know the last two chapters were all designed specifically with the endgame of Marius climbing out of the window. So I hope that was enjoyable.
> 
> Also, I can now officially announce that I have started writing the scene where Enjolras and R meet for the first time... should work out as being Chapter 12. Yay.


	10. In Which Courfeyrac Knows Just the Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also in which we properly meet a certain someone for the first time =).

Really! If Courfeyrac doesn’t stop laughing about this within the next twenty seconds, Marius is definitely going to have to do something drastic. He can’t say for sure what exactly it is that he’s going to have to do to him, but it will be highly unpleasant, and Courfeyrac will not like it at all, and it will certainly stop him from laughing.

He has already counted to fifteen in his head when his friend takes a long shuddering breath to calm himself, and finally, finally, the laughter stops; there is, however, a smirk still painted across his face.

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding even remotely sorry at all, “But you have to admit Marius, you are literally the only person in the world – outside of the movies – to whom that would actually happen, right?” and Marius sighs at him, but nods because really, whoever heard of someone actually, in real life, having to scale a tree to escape the house of the girl they liked, after having hidden in a wardrobe to avoid being caught by said girl’s Grandfather’s secretary, after having gone through said girl’s brother’s things, in order to build a picture of a girl who might actually date him, so that he could date his sister, **_after_** having to sneak past security cameras and guards and literally falling backwards through a hedge in order to gain access to the house to do so. When he takes it all in in one go, Marius is more than aware that his life is becoming one Rom-Com cliché after another; and really he can only hope that things will start to improve from here on in.

“Alright then, hand it over,” says Courfeyrac, holding his hand out for the notebook that Marius has been clutching to his chest as he told his tale. “I really hope you two managed to get something I can work with after all that,” and Marius passes it over, thinking that he hopes so too.

Courfeyrac scans through each discovery, then goes back through them reading them out loud, and Marius repeats parts of his discussion of them with Cosette that didn’t end up being written down. At one point Courfeyrac dissolves into laughter again at a couple of Enjolras’ musical tastes, but eventually they reach the end of the – admittedly rather short now he hears it back again – list, his friend goes suddenly unnervingly quiet, and appears for several minutes thereafter to be deep in thought.

He jumps somewhat dramatically when Marius gives a loud cough to get his attention, and he looks over at him with an innocent “Hmm?” that makes Marius narrow his eyes. He can’t say that after yesterday’s adventures, he’s in the mood for Courfeyrac’s particular brand of suspense.

“Well?” He asks, knowing he sounds impatient, “What do you think?”

Courfeyrac goes silent again for a few moments, confirming without a doubt to Marius that he is doing this on purpose, and sure enough, after several seconds in which Marius very seriously considers just strangling him, he grins widely and says “I think, I know just the girl,”

*          *          *

Apparently whatever protest or rally or gathering it was that Enjolras and his band of merry men had gone to the previous day had run unusually late, and a particularly worn out Marius had already been asleep when Courfeyrac returned from it. Both had then managed to oversleep, and it was only because Combeferre had the presence of mind to sit outside Courfeyrac’s flat in his car earlier than usual and honk his horn several times before calling Courfeyrac’s mobile, that they had enough time to get up, dressed and be out the door in time to be driven to school. It was, therefore, not until the start of mid-morning break when Marius had tracked Courfeyrac down with the notebook, and the first bell had sounded shortly after his friend’s announcement that he had a girl in mind to fit his and Cosette’s discoveries from the weekend. Which meant, of course, that everything had to be put on hold until lunch break, and far from being helpful or considerate of Marius’ curiosity, Courfeyrac seems to take a great deal of enjoyment out of answering all his questions with variations of ‘You’ll see’ or avoiding the topic in the most obnoxiously obvious way possible.

Marius manages to get himself told off for talking in class three times during their Math lesson, while Courfeyrac snickers to himself, and he is rather glad to be rid of the teasing during his hour of World History. An hour during which, yet another blazing row was had in the next door classroom, ending as usual with the slamming of the door and now familiar striding footsteps down the corridor. Alice Laurent whispering non-too-subtly to one of her friends about how she ‘pities the girl who ends up with him’ doesn’t do a lot to soothe Marius’ worries or annoyance.

Courfeyrac meets him outside the classroom as planned, and after a brief conversation with Jehan as they walk down the corridor, which reveals that Enjolras had taken particular issue with the manner in which Napoleon Bonaparte’s reign as Emperor was being portrayed – i.e. favourably – Marius makes a mental note to never bring the subject up; especially considering the essay in his bag with the rather favourable conclusion. They part ways with Jehan near the front corridor. He heads off towards the cafeteria, and Courfeyrac excuses them both on ‘official relationship business’ which Jehan apparently just understands to mean Cosette as he doesn’t question them, he simply bids them both farewell and Marius good luck.

Marius finds himself being lead out of the school building and into the nearly empty parking lot, and becomes increasingly confused as they start to cross it, heading towards the bank above the sports field.

“Where are we going?” he queries, knowing full well that there are no sports practises on a Monday lunchtime, except for boys tennis.

“You’ll see,” comes the infuriatingly chipper response, and they turn to walk alongside the bank instead of heading down it, and Marius frowns and stops walking abruptly.

“We’re heading to the bike sheds aren’t we?” indeed he could already see them looming up ahead.  
“Not at all my friend,” replies Courfeyrac, reaching out to grip his wrist and tug him forward, “There is absolutely nothing of interest to us in the bike sheds,” and Marius is halfway through a sigh of relief when he adds, “No, what we are interested in is the place, _behind_ , the bike sheds,” and the sigh of relief becomes one of resignation as the grip on his wrist tightens and he continues to let himself be pulled along.

Marius will be the very first person to admit that he can come across a little… naïve, at times. Okay, a lot naïve at times, but he’s not stupid, and he knows what kind of crowd generally frequent the areas behind the bike sheds in any school. They may not be terribly imaginative when it comes to picking a place to hang out, but lack of imagination does not make the very large, very strong, and very angry looking boy guarding the top of the stairs down to their territory any less terrifying.

It seems however, that Courfeyrac is not one to be intimidated out of his plans simply because the boy in front of him has a foot of height on him, and is at least twice as wide, which either makes him braver or stupider than Marius; and judging by the way that the boys forearm muscles tense as they both draw near, Marius settles on the latter.

“Afternoon,” Courfeyrac calls cheerfully, and the boy draws himself up to full height and glares at them in response. Seemingly undeterred Courfeyrac drags Marius a step or too closer and continues, “Your Lord and Master’s home then?” there is no reply to that and Marius shoots him a look of confusion, which goes ignored, “Only I’d like to have a word with one of his subjects,”

For a moment Marius is convinced that the boy is simply going to punch both of them and have done with it, but thankfully the moment passes, and he simply grunts “Wait there,” before turning and heading down the steps and out of sight. It all feels rather too much like a gang movie for Marius’ liking.

“What the hell are you doing,” he hisses in Courfeyrac’s ear, keeping one eye on the steps, “These guys are probably all addicts and criminals, and… and God knows what else!”

“Most of them, yeah,” says Courfeyrac genially, “But don’t worry, Éponine’s alright, bit rough around the edges maybe, but otherwise fine,”

Marius blinks, trying to place the somewhat familiar name, “Éponine?” he asks, but Courfeyrac hushes him and he turns his glance back to the stairs, where the large brute from before is returning, but not alone. Ascending the steps alongside him, with an air of owning the world, is a shorter, thinner but no less intimidating individual. His long black hair is tied in a loose ponytail at the base of his neck, sharp grey eyes flick first over Marius without recognition, and then over Courfeyrac with interest, and he’s wearing black slacks, a deep violet button down, a matching top hat and a smile that promises nothing good. Marius manages to swallow with difficulty and is glad to find that when he glances over at his friend, Courfeyrac is no longer grinning like an idiot. This guy, unlike muscles beside him, is apparently worth taking seriously.

“Émile de Courfeyrac,” greets the boy, and a look of intense distaste settles across Courfeyrac’s face, “To what do I owe this unexpected… pleasure,” Marius has to repress a shudder at the boys voice, which he can only describe as being like a knife wrapped in velvet. If he didn’t want to be here before, he is really starting to consider bolting and leaving Courfeyrac to his fate.

“Montparnasse,” Courfeyrac nods a greeting of his own; though it sounds strained, “Thought you were still in juvie,”

“Free and clear as you see,” Montparnasse’s smile widens, and he shrugs in a ‘what can you do?’ manner, “Little old ladies who’ve been through a traumatic event simply aren’t reliable witnesses, and without a reliable witness…” he trails off

“The justice system prevails again,” finishes Courfeyrac, with more than a little sarcasm, but Montparnasse simply laughs.

“Indeed, but if you’re not here to offer your congratulations or to welcome me back, what are you here for?” he asks, “Gueulemer here says you want to speak with someone in particular,”

Courfeyrac nods, “We were hoping to have a word with Éponine actually,” he says, and it’s business like and very strange to hear, and Montparnasse’s gaze flicks to Marius again as he replies “We?” and he chuckles, “I wondered about your friend here. Seems a little skittish,” Marius colours slightly, “I know Gueulemer’s ugly as sin, and that’s enough to scare the shit out of anyone but as you can see he’s well under control,” he pats a muscled arm like a normal person might pat a well behaved dog, and smiles what would – on normal people – be a friendly smile; on him it feels more like an invitation to sign your own death warrant. One word wrong, it says, and I let the dog off its leash; it will tear you limb from limb, and nobody will ever find the pieces.

“What’s your name?” he questions softly, half a whisper, stepping closer, and before Marius can remember how to use his tongue, Courfeyrac has stepped in to answer for him.

“The new kid?” says Montparnasse, not taking his eyes of Marius, clearly curious, “And what does a newbie, and a member of Fauchelevent’s Justice League, want with a Thenardier brat?”

A spark of recognition goes through Marius then, and he turns abruptly to Courfeyrac, who holds up a hand to him as he answers. “That’s between us and her,” he says, lips twitching into a small smile, “Call it a business proposal if you like,”

Montparnasse’s lip curls in a way that suggests he doesn’t like being kept out of the loop, but he nods at Gueulemer who turns and heads back down the stairs; after a few seconds giving a final appraising look to Marius, he follows, and beside him Marius feels Courfeyrac deflate slightly in relief. For his part, Marius waits until both imposing figures have vanished into their nest before turning to Courfeyrac and spluttering “Thenardier?” with disbelief. Courfeyrac makes no move to correct him. “Éponine Thenardier?” he continues, “As in, crazy pitch fork wielding caretaker’s daughter?”  
Courfeyrac nods. “Did you hit your head on something?” Marius asks seriously, and he gets a laugh in response.

“Stop panicking, relax,” he says, back to his usual chipper self, and Marius almost reminds him that he wasn’t this relaxed thirty seconds ago but holds back. Courfeyrac must read the thought on his face though, because he carries on, “Listen, alright she comes from a line of nutters, and she keeps bad company, but I told you, ‘Ponine’s alright. More than alright really. She’s strong-willed, hard to scare off, politically non-inclined but she can sure as hell speak her mind if she’s asked, I’m pretty sure she was _in_ an alternative rock band once, she used to smoke like a chimney but she gave up ages ago, she drinks a bit but hey you can’t have everything, and you’d be hard pressed to find someone more independent,” Marius continues to feel, and look, sceptical, but Courfeyrac just laughs at him again and says “Don’t worry. You’ll see”

* * *

* * *

To say that she’s confused when Montparnasse swaggers over with his usual dangerous smile and tells her a couple of ‘suitors’ have come to call would be an understatement of the highest degree. At first she’s half tempted to tell Gueulemer to go back up the stairs to tell them to ‘fuck off’, but natural curiosity, coupled with the desire to get away from the snickering that goes around the room at the announcement spurs her into movement and she throws the empty can in her hand at Babet‘s head, smirks when everyone starts laughing at his cry of pain instead, and vacates her seat, heading for the stairs herself.

When she reaches the top of the steps, she sees the two boys who have been waiting for her hurriedly trying to appear as though they had not just been having a hushed argument. She looks them both over. One, the more cheerful of the pair, she knows well enough and she greets him with a nod of her head and a “Courfeyrac,” and he returns the greeting with a wide smile. The other, she has only seen in passing over the past few weeks, which had to make him… “Marius Pontmercy,” he says, stepping forwards and holding out a hand; and yes, she remembers her mother had said there was some confusion with the new kid and his surname.

She smiles at the stiff politeness in his posture, and though she still has absolutely no idea why these two would have sought her out she can tell that this particular meeting was not Marius’ idea. Still, she takes his hand and shakes it, smiling slightly wider when he winces slightly under her firm grip.

“Éponine,” she says, not bothering to mention her last name, and when he doesn’t question this she understands that he probably already knows; which at least explains why he has apparently been quite reluctant to meet with her. “Nice to meet you,” she adds, giving his hand an extra squeeze before letting it go. He practically jerks it back, nursing it in his other hand with a slightly wounded expression, and she rolls her eyes, gaze falling instead onto Courfeyrac.

“You rang?” he smiles at her.

“I did,” he replies, “Well, I should say we did,” and at that Marius shoots him an annoyed sort of look that says he wants to totally disassociate himself from this decision. Courfeyrac ignores him entirely. “You see, Marius here has a slight predicament we were hoping you could help us with,” he continues.

Éponine hums in response, purses her lips and gives Marius another once over, she smirks slightly when he blushes, “Well I don’t know,” she says, “He’s pretty enough I suppose, but he seems a little jumpy. Are you sure he’s up for it?” and it’s wonderful to watch the way his face goes from pink to pale white terror, and from there goes to red to purple in embarrassment and annoyance as he splutters, unable to find any words at all with which to respond. Courfeyrac watches on, grinning like a cheshire cat and apparently thoroughly enjoying the confusion he’s caused. She raises her eyebrows at him waiting for the real reason for their visit. He leaves Marius floundering for a few more seconds in half sentences - like ‘that’s not… I don’t… I have a… it’s not like,’ - before finally coming to his rescue.

“So there’s this girl,” he says, slapping a hand on Marius shoulder, effectively shutting him up. Éponine laughs.

“Isn’t it always the way,” she says dramatically, placing her hand over her heart.

“And she’s got this Grandfather,”

“Don’t they all?” she sighs, and Courfeyrac grins at her.

“Not quite like this,” he replies, “See he’s a little bit overprotective, has these weird rules…” and a spark of recognition goes through her, and she’s cutting him off and spluttering “Cosette?” before she can really help herself. Courfeyrac stops talking, looking pleased to find she knows who he’s talking about; though that he doubted she would is rather insulting.

“Cosette Fauchelevent?” she asks, just to be sure, because surely nobody in their right mind would be stupid enough to…

“The one and only,” supplies Courfeyrac, still grinning from ear to ear, and clapping Marius on the shoulder again, in a way that has to be painful. She turns to the boy himself for confirmation that he really is this dumb.

“Cosette Fauchelevent is the girl you’re pining after?” she asks and he nods rather more enthusiastically than is probably necessary.

“You know her?” he asks in return, stepping closer to her, apparently losing his nervousness at the mere mention of her name; she fixes him with her best ‘are you kidding?’ expression, and considers for a moment telling him just exactly how well she knows Cosette Fauchelevent. She refrains. Her father would kill her for letting that information out, and besides, Courfeyrac’s lawyer of a father might hear of it and take an interest in the family’s financial situation… she’s fairly certain nobody could prove anything, but it’s not really worth the hassle.

“I know a lot of things, and a lot of people,” she says instead, “I know you for instance,” she adds, smirking at him as he jerks backwards again, reminded of why he had misgivings about this meeting in the first place. “Mister Marius Pontmercy, Grandfather a certain Mister Gillenormand. Nice,” she says, and his frown deepens, “That’s common knowledge. There must be some general interest amongst the girls at school based on that, and as I say you’re not half bad to look at, so why the hassle? Do you just really like a challenge or do you have a death wish?”

“We’re in love!” and for a moment she’s not completely certain that he was the one who spoke, because the words are determined and strong and nothing at all like what she would have expected given his performance so far, but she takes in his expression and finds his jaw clenched, eyes glaring, his fists are closed at his side and he has the general air of someone who is fed up of having to repeat himself; she supposes she can’t be the first to have asked why he was bothering to chase after an unattainable girl. It’s only when she has caught up to the fact that he spoke that she really takes in what he said.

“We?” she asks, surprised to be caught unawares, and she’s definitely going to have some words with her little rumour mill, because she prides herself on knowing precisely what is going on in this school – in the whole town really – and that she has missed something as important as Cosette spending time with a boy is frustrating. She has never known Cosette to show an interest in anyone before, but as she sweeps her gaze fully over Marius again – he is beginning to fidget slightly with the effort of remaining stoic – she almost smiles at his awkward determination; and maybe it isn’t so difficult to believe he could have won over someone as warm-hearted as Cosette.

“Well, there wouldn’t be much point troubling you if we weren’t sure that his feelings were returned, now would there?” Courfeyrac puts in to answer her query, glancing at his friend and laughing slightly nervously; apparently it’s rather unusual for Marius to react so strongly. “Which brings us naturally to _why_ we’re troubling you,” he adds, looking back at her, and she pushes her shock at this revelation to the back of her mind, instead meeting his gaze expectantly.

“I’m guessing since you know her, you know the rules standing in the way here,”

“She isn’t allowed to date, and she’s not allowed out of the house alone,” she replies promptly, “Mostly when she goes out it’s with her brother…” suddenly she’s beginning to see where this might be heading and she stares between the two of them as if they’re completely mad; and, she thinks, they might well be.

“Exactly,” says Courfeyrac, ignoring her incredulous expression, “So here’s the thing, Enjolras being who he is, doesn’t tend to frequent places that might – in normal circumstances – be considered nice but also likely places to say, bump into someone,”

“Someone like lover boy over here,” she puts in, jerking her head at Marius who turns pink again, and she can’t quite decide whether it’s annoying or endearing anymore.

Courfeyrac nods enthusiastically, “Just so,” he says, “Now, Enjolras, still being who he is, is not easily persuaded into social gatherings that don’t involve political leanings of some sort, not even when proposed by his closest friends, we think that is mainly our own fault for having never really tried very hard in the past, however if he were perhaps to meet someone and become attached to that person and they were to say suggest heading to a cinema or a party or some other sort of gathering not involving a whole lot of shouting and sign handling…”

“… Then Cosette could ‘tag along’ and our own little Romeo could accidentally on purpose be there at the same time and well, she wouldn’t want to impose on her brother’s date completely that would just be rude,” she finishes for him, folding her arms across her chest.

“Then you understand perfectly,” says Courfeyrac, clearly pleased; even Marius is smiling, just a small thing, but it’s definitely a better look on him than the frowns or the nerves.

“I understand that you’re perfectly insane,” she replies, and points at Courfeyrac, “You’re his friend right?” he nods, “So tell me, how many times in the history of your friendship has he ever shown interest in dating anyone?” he doesn’t say anything, which she supposes is an answer in itself, not that she really needed one. “Never,” she says decisively, folding her arms again, “He has never shown any interest in anyone, ever; and believe me I know that it is not for want of attempts from just about every male inclined student at this school. What on Earth makes you think that this will work? And what makes you think I of all people am the girl for the job?”

“We’re not completely disorganised,” says Courfeyrac, “We’ve done some reconnaissance work. To cut a long story short Marius and Cosette did a little digging and on presenting their findings to me, you were the first girl to come to mind,”

Éponine snorts at that, “I’m flattered,” she says, rolling her eyes and wondering just what kind of ‘digging’ they did to come to _that_ conclusion. Still mad though this whole situation is, she can’t help but feel a sort of grudging respect for Cosette, who never really seemed the type to defy the rules, especially where her Grandfather is concerned; and it’s that more than anything that makes her continue.

“Alright say I agree to this scheme of yours” and Marius’ face lights up so fast it’s a little bit scary, “And don’t think I don’t still think you’re insane because you all clearly are; but say I do, what’s in it for me?” she asks and his face falls again.

“Huh?” he says and she laughs.

“Say this works out for you,” she says, “I get your boy to act like a normal human being for a time. You get the girl… and I get what exactly? I can’t say I’ve ever really considered myself the future Mrs Fauchelevent,”

Marius glances over at Courfeyrac, clearly looking for help. Help that isn’t coming to judge by the way his friend carefully avoids his gaze; eventually he turns back to Éponine, wringing his hands together nervously.

“Well… uh, I… I mean I could maybe pay you…” he begins, and she cuts him off with a sharp laugh that makes him jump.

“Funny how guys like you always turn to money to solve all your problems,” she says coldly, “Well, thanks and all, but I don’t need your rich boy charity,” she adds and he stutters.

“I… I’m not,”

“Come on, I already told you, I know who you are. Everyone here knows your Grand-daddy is rich, and when the kids in this pretentious shithole consider you rich, well…” she smirks, folding her arms, and enjoying the indignant expression on his face.

“I am not rich!” he practically spits it out, “I’m not even staying with them anymore, I… I moved out. I was sick of it there, sick of them, and I refuse to take their money. I’m going to get a job and pay my own way; I won’t spend a penny that I haven’t earned myself!”

“He’s staying with me,” Courfeyrac puts in unhelpfully after this little outburst, but she has eyes only for Marius; she stares at him incredulously. This new boy has now managed to surprise her, a grand total of three times, in less than twenty minutes; that definitely has to be some sort of a record. She’s impressed, despite herself and despite his past performances too.

“Won’t spend a penny you didn’t earn huh?” she says slowly, and lets her smirk form a real smile, he looks a little taken aback by it, “I like that, and Enjolras would probably like it too, maybe you should try your hand at seducing him,”

Courfeyrac laughs at that, “Might be counter-productive to wooing Cosette though,” he says, and Marius has shrunk back slightly, colouring in that way that has over the last few minutes come to seem adorable to Éponine. It creates a sort of warm buzzing in her stomach that she doesn’t recall having felt before. She shakes her head lightly, forcing out a laugh in return and trying to clear the feeling away.

“I guess so,” she says, and she turns the smirk back on, swinging her arms and linking them behind her back, “Alright pretty boy, I don’t need a poor man’s charity either, and it doesn’t sound like you could make it financially worth my while even if I did…” she pauses, swaying back and forth on the spot, she comes to a rest leaning into Marius’ space, “So let’s just say you owe me… a favour,” she finishes quietly, and his blush turns violently red and he stumbles backwards away from her, coughing lightly. She laughs and steps backwards herself, letting him pull himself together.

“What uh… what sort of a favour?” he stammers out after a few moments, and she shrugs her shoulders.

“Oh I don’t know yet, call it an investment for the future,” she replies, winking.

“So you’ll do it?” asks Courfeyrac, grinning like a cheshire cat. She nods and he actually ‘whoops’ and claps Marius once again on the shoulder; the poor boy winces, but through it he’s smiling a small faraway smile that suggests his mind is back on his beloved.

They spend the remaining five minutes before the bell sounds to signal the end of the lunch break going over a sort of plan of action, finding a time and a place and a reason for Éponine to casually bump into Enjolras and get him talking. Cosette, apparently, has track club that evening, and Enjolras almost always waits for her in the school library.

They also pass on the information gleaned from raiding his bedroom, and Éponine again has to mentally award points to Cosette and Marius for pulling that off without getting caught; her father has had eyes on that mansion for years and has yet to deem it worth the risk. When the bell sounds the two boys turn to go, and when she doesn’t follow them towards the school, Marius turns to tell her she’ll be late to class. Courfeyrac walks away laughing, much to the boys’ confusion, and she calls back that she has better things to do, and, leaving him with another smile and a wink, she turns on her heel and heads back down the staircase to the den.

As she arrives into the main room, she pointedly ignores Montparnasse’s questioning gaze – he had clearly been curious when he told her of the boys’ request to see her – _let him wonder_ , she thinks to herself, it has nothing to do with him after all. Instead, she makes her way over to the darkest corner of the room, where a pile of dark curls is slumped over a table top, two empty bottles sat beside folded arms.

“Oi!” she says, sitting down beside them, and kicking the legs that are stretched out underneath the table. The curls jerk upright to reveal a dishevelled, unshaven face; a large pink mark branded on pale skin where his forehead was resting against the table. Her victim glares at her, though only half-heartedly through heavily lidded eyes, and she ignores it anyway, leaning in to mutter, “You’ll never guess what I just got asked to do,”

The owner of the curls glares harder for a moment before dropping his head back into his arms, though looking up at her now, “I am hung over, and half asleep. Be gone sphinx, I have no desire to play your game of guesses and riddles,” is the reply, which she finds is rather too eloquent for all the claims it makes, but then that seems to be the norm with him, she thinks.

“Grantaire…” she begins, but thinks better of the lecture that will surely fall on deaf ears, she sighs, “Whatever. Two guys from our year just dropped in for a chat,” and she launches quietly into the tale, keeping an amused eye on where Montparnasse was clearly trying to feign disinterest, whilst also trying to listen in. Grantaire, who despite being hung-over and half-asleep, is always a worthy audience and listens obediently until the very end when he says:

“And who exactly are these people again?”

Éponine rolls her eyes at him, “Does it really matter?” she asks and he shrugs.

“I’m just thinking, you agreed to do this for nothing, is this ‘Enjolras’ guy really that good looking?” Éponine smacks him hard on the arm, though mostly to distract him from the blush beginning to colour her face; she tries to get the sudden thoughts of Marius under control. Nobody, not even Grantaire needed to know about those, she would get them under control soon enough.

“Am I not allowed to do a favour for someone out of the goodness of my heart?” she asks.

“Of course,” replies Grantaire, still rubbing at his arm, “But it sounds to me like this favour involves a lot of going to poncy debate club meetings and pretending to be interested in things that you couldn’t give two shits about, and they aren’t even paying you for your time. No offence ‘Nina, your heart may be bigger than most – at least in this rat hole – but it isn’t that good. So either this guy they want you to date is filthy rich and gorgeous, or one of your employees is,” and she’s sadly not quite quick enough punching him this time, and he’s half-shouted “Ah-hah!” before cutting off to a pained cry and she knows she must have turned scarlet again.

“Shut up and keep your voice down,” she says, glancing over at Montparnasse; though he is still faking non-interest.

“Was he all big brown puppy eyes?” Grantaire whispers, sitting up and reaching for a nearby bottle of… something; Éponine’s refusal to answer is apparently taken as an affirmative as he snorts lightly before taking a long drink.

“Shut up,” she snaps, half-wishing she hadn’t brought it up with him in the first place, “He owes me a favour,” she adds quietly, and Grantaire raises his eyebrows.

“Better make it a pretty big favour,” he says.

“And besides which, he’s dirt poor if you must know,” she continues, “He’s crashing on a friends couch and everything. So he was a little bit cute, who cares, I’m allowed to find guys attractive, it’s a free country,”

“If you think that, you really are mad,” Grantaire snorts again, and she rolls her eyes at him and makes to stand up and leave him with his drink; he grips her arm before she can go very far. When she looks back at him, he looks almost sober and awake, and strangely enough, slightly concerned. “Be careful ‘Nina,” he says softly, and she is about to ask him what he means but his eyes glaze slightly and he slumps forward on the table; dead asleep. She sighs lightly to herself, and extricates her arm, running her hand gently through tangled curls.

“You know me,” she says, equally soft, “I can take care of myself,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Parnasse is fun to write =D.  
> Did i accidentally on purpose past!CourfParnasse here? Yes. Yes I did.
> 
> One more chapter to go after this and then... the meeting FINALLY! 
> 
> This whole fic is an exercise in 'Just how much can I write for an exR fanfic without E and R actually having met yet' well children the answer is 11 chapters and approx 42800 words. GO ME!


	11. In Which Enjolras Really Did Just Want to Work on His History Paper

He can’t help but wonder what exactly it is about libraries that some people apparently find so enticing. Surely if you wanted a tryst somewhere it would be best to pick a more private setting, or at the very least one where there is enough activity and noise nearby that you won’t be easily overheard and discovered. Yet in the space of half an hour he has run into or heard from afar at least three separate couples, one of which had gotten as far as taking their tops off when Enjolras had rounded the corner to the history section. He supposes the sensible thing would have been to simply back away and pretend he didn’t see anything, but he’d really needed several books in order to complete his work. Apparently ‘looking for books’ is not a valid excuse for being in a library after school hours, so the only other reason he could be there – in their opinion – was for some sort of voyeuristic thrill seeking; and his jaw still hurts somewhat from where the girl had punched him. Still, they had hurried away pretty quickly, tugging their shirts back on, and he had at least managed to find the books he needed.

He sighs and pulls one towards him, determined to at least get his introduction finished before Cosette arrives from track practise. The more he reads the more annoyed he gets with the source material, and his fingers fly over the keys of his laptop to express his displeasure and disagreement in words; until he glances at the corner of the screen and finds that he’s already used over half the allowed word count. With a groan he scrolls back up to the top to read over it, three thousand words really is not enough space to fully discuss the fall of the British Empire and its causes. Apparently it’s barely enough to introduce the subject, but he starts deleting large chunks of text anyway – mostly the sections where he discusses the biases of the written history itself – his teacher won’t thank him for it anyway he thinks. Well, Ms Simplice would be proud of him. He makes a mental note not to mention this to her; she’d probably smile at him and congratulate him on keeping his head down and not going out of his way to irritate his teachers, or something equally patronising.

Keep your head down, seemed to be Ms Simplice’s new mantra for him. Keep your head down, get through this year, graduate, get to college… she was a little bit vague on what he was to do then. Continue keeping his head down? Make sure he doesn’t get kicked out of college so he can get a job and do what? Probably keep his head down for the rest of his life if she and his Grandfather have anything to do with it. Don’t get into trouble, don’t challenge the system, or if you must at least do it by the book, play by their rules. When did that ever get humanity anywhere?

“Laptop offend you or something?” his head snaps upwards at the voice. At first he thinks that it might be Cosette, generally speaking other girls don’t approach him anymore; especially not when he’s working. Cosette often said he was rude, and perhaps that was the case, but he’d rather be rude and rid of an irritation than encouraging it to continue. They do, however, still have a strange tendency to hover nearby and whisper a lot, which is almost as irritating. This girl however, is definitely not his sister. She’s short, dark skinned and thin as a rake. She’s not even someone he recognises, but that’s not exactly unusual. She’s also neither hovering nor giggling; instead she leans casually forwards against the back of a chair, grinning like a cheshire cat.

“What?” he asks bluntly; hoping that she’ll take the hint, ignore the question, and _go away_.

“You were sort of glaring at your laptop like it called you a rude name,” says the girl, apparently unfazed. She brushes long brown hair out of her face and takes a seat across the table from him. “I was wondering what it said,” she adds with a grin. He glares at her instead, but it apparently has as much of an effect on her as it did on his word document; less, she laughs at him.

“Do you mind?” he asks, turning his attention back towards his assignment, highlighting and deleting several chunks of text. The girl leans folded arms onto the table.

“Not really,” she says.

“I’m working,”

“Not stopping you,”

He looks up and she grins at him again, eyes bright and teeth slightly crooked. Under other circumstances, around other people, it might be considered a nice smile; Enjolras really doesn’t care, and really, _really_ wishes she would just go away.

“What are these about?” she asks suddenly, pulling one of his books off the pile and reading the cover. “British Empire huh? Well you weren’t kidding, you really are working,”

“That is generally what people do in a school library,” he snaps, reaching to grab the book back; thankfully she lets it go without much fuss and he places it back on top of the rest.

“Not always,” she replies with a wink, and she leans back in her chair again. Enjolras rolls his eyes and turns back to his computer, reading his work over and realising suddenly that the section he just deleted was actually important; he undoes it with an annoyed huff.

“Tricky subject?” she asks, “I could help if you like.”

“No, thank you,” he replies in strained tones, working extra hard to keep his temper under control, because really all he needs right now is for the librarian to kick him out of the library and send him to Ms Simplice. So far, the library is the only unmarked card on his record. Besides which he has, somehow, managed to avoid having a single encounter with the guidance counsellor over the last two days, and he can’t say he misses her, or the way she manages to get under his skin. Honestly he’s never met anyone aside from his Grandfather with the capability to make him feel so young and he hates that a few well placed words can make all his arguments fly out of his head. They come back to him hours later, when they’re of no use whatsoever.

“I’m smarter than people think you know,” the girl says, and she laughs, “I doze off in class sometimes, but I can read and write and everything. Know my letters I do,” she adds in what Enjolras is fairly sure was an imitation of a cockney accent.

“I’m sure you can,” he says, and she apparently takes that as a sign to continue talking, Enjolras tunes most of it out, but though the words don’t precisely register the sound of them is distracting enough; he sighs and looks back at her, “Listen…” he begins – as loud as he dares – and he tries desperately to place her face and put a name to it. Now that she’s been hanging around for several minutes and he has had a chance to study her, he’s fairly certain he’s seen her before. She blinks at him several times, and the smile slowly slides from her face; she raises an eyebrow.

“Éponine,” she says, guessing his dilemma, “I’ve been in at least one of your classes every year since middle school,”

There’s something about the name that’s familiar too, but he can’t seem to place that either; he shakes his head. How he can be expected to remember the name of every person who’s ever had a class with him is beyond him. At least she doesn’t seem as offended as some of the other girls who have approached him in the past; he remembers a particularly painful experience when one girl burst into tears. This ‘Éponine’ seems to be more amused by his having no memory of her than anything else.

“Éponine,” he acknowledges, nodding his head, “Look, no offense, I’m sure you… read and write very well, but I work best by myself, and I really do just want to get this work done whilst I wait for my sister…”

“Cosette,” she supplies promptly, and smiles again when he looks surprised, “I have a head for names,” she says and he frowns at the dig.

“Cosette,” he confirms, “As I was saying, I want to get this done before she gets here, only I’m afraid it’s rather difficult to concentrate with you talking at me, so if you wouldn’t mind leaving me to it?”

He’ll never admit to it, but he can’t help but be rather proud of himself for the relatively polite delivery of his dismissal. That he thinks Ms Simplice would also be proud is of no consequence at all. Several seconds of silence follow it however, and the girl makes no move whatsoever to indicate that she’s heard him, or that she intends to leave. When she does speak, she does so in a lower voice than before, almost a stage whisper.

“I do apologise,” she says, a hand cupped around one side of her mouth and nose, “I’ll try to be less… distracting,”

She finishes with another wink, and he sighs and turns away from her again.

To her credit she doesn’t make another sound for several minutes, and once he’s managed to cut his word count down significantly, he loses himself in a text book and almost entirely forgets that she’s even there. It’s only when a high pitched giggle reaches his ear that he emerges, and he levels her with another glare. She shakes her head, holds her hands up level with her head and mouths ‘not guilty’ at him. The giggle happens again a moment later, and he realises it really isn’t her at all. Two people come staggering out of one of the rows of shelves nearby, and seriously, Enjolras thinks to himself, does nobody actually come to the library for the books anymore? The boy and girl stop short on seeing Enjolras and Éponine sat at their table, eyes flicking from Enjolras’ stormy expression to the knowing smile of Éponine and back slowly out of sight again; still giggling to themselves. Enjolras turns back to his book with a derogatory snort, and hears Éponine say, “Disgusting isn’t it?”

He glances up at her. At some point during the time he was lost in his work she must have gotten up, because she’s suddenly acquired a book of her own. _Candide_. It seems as if she’s several pages in already.

“Honestly! Don’t people read anymore?” she says with a mocking grin, and he knows she’s making fun of him so he doesn’t bother to respond. Instead he looks pointedly at the book in her hands.

“I wouldn’t have put _you_ down as a Voltaire fan,”

“Huh?” She starts and turns the book over in order to look at its cover, “Oh, I’m not, I just grabbed it at random,” and who manages to grab Voltaire ‘at random’ and just start reading?

“Why?”

She shrugs, “Seemed the thing to do in a library,”

He stares at her, and she holds his gaze steadily, not even blinking; it’s more than a little bit unnerving. Perhaps this is what Courfeyrac means when he calls Enjolras’ glares unnatural.

“Why are you sitting here?” he asks suddenly, because this girl makes no sense to him whatsoever. She smiles at him again, and it _is_ sort of a nice smile he thinks suddenly. It’s a real smile, he realises; not simpering or falsely sweet, but just a smile for the sake of smiling. It reminds him a little bit of Cosette, when she’s teasing him.

“Good a place to sit as any,” she says with another shrug; she leans forwards resting her elbows on the table, and her head in her hands and adds “Though it has a better view than most tables. I like you,”

“That’s very straight forward,”

“I thought you might appreciate that,” she replies, “I’m free Saturday by the way,”

“I’m not interested,”

“That’s very straight forward too, aren’t we doing well so far?”

He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Listen,” he starts, but she holds up a hand to silence him.

“If you use the words ‘no offense’ again, I’ll take it back,”

“I wasn’t… Listen I have a lot to get done,” he snaps, suddenly annoyed with her again, and she shakes her head and places her book down on the table, not bothering to mark her page.

“Right,” she says, pushing her chair backwards with another smile – though it looks more forced than those previously – “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” For several seconds he looks back at his laptop, but he can’t quite shake the feeling that she isn’t leaving, or even preparing to leave. Sure enough on glancing back up she is still standing there, looking down at him expectantly.

He sighs. “Tomorrow?” he almost doesn’t want to ask, but it is reasonably clear she isn’t going to go away until he does; and that’s what he wants, for her to go away.

She grins widely, “Debate club meeting right?”

He blinks at her, “You’re not in debate club,” he says, pretty damn sure that while, okay, he knows he isn’t the most sociable of people, and okay sometimes he forgets his classmates names, he does at least remember the names of the people in his own club. Especially as half of them are also members of Les Amis. This girl is _definitely_ not a member of debate club.

“I’ve been toying with the idea of joining,” she replies easily, “You guys are always looking for new members right?” and that was true; as things stood, they only just barely had enough members to actually fill the requirements for a school club. Phillips in particular was always on the lookout for a reason to shut them down. He sighs again, but nods an affirmative, resigned to the fact that she is going to show up whatever he says, and at the very least it would be good for the club.

“Great. See you then,” she says with a cheerful wink, “And hey, I’ll bring a friend too; he does love a good argument,”

“Debate club isn’t abou…” but she is already skipping her way through the shelves and out of sight. He turns his irritated glare on his laptop momentarily and, as if it knew just how well things have been going for him, its battery promptly conks out and the screen goes blank. He stares at it for several seconds before folding his arms on the table in front of him and letting his head fall on top of them in despair.

“Bad day?”

He very nearly screams; only barely holding onto his last shred of patience. He does jump quite violently however, and his head flies upwards to find his sister looking down at him with concern. Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, he reaches forward to start putting his laptop away as he replies, “You could say that,” he says.

“I just met Éponine,” she says conversationally, sliding into the chair which had been previously occupied by the girl; her choice of book is still sat on the table.

“Who?” he asks tiredly, sliding his laptop into its case. Cosette levels him with an incredulous look.

“Éponine,” she repeats as if it should mean something to him, she waits a few beats before adding, “The girl you were _just_ talking to,” and oh, right, of course, Éponine had been her name. He’s not entirely sure why that is supposedly so important to his sister of all people.

“Oh?” is all the response he gives her and she sighs in disgust and throws her hands in the air.

“Oh, he says,” she half whispers to herself.

“How did you know she was talking to me?” he asks, tucking his books into his shoulder bag.

“Because she told me,” replies Cosette, “We had a conversation. You know? Where two people interact and actually remember that it happened. She said she was talking to you about joining the debate club,”

“She mentioned something about it, yes,” he replies, standing up and heaving both his bags onto his shoulder; gesturing to Cosette that he’s ready to leave.

“Well that’s good isn’t it?” she says, rising from her seat, “You’re always saying how you’ll be screwed if anyone decides to leave,”

“I suppose so,”

Cosette smiles, tucking her arm into his and walking them both towards the library exit, “I think it’s nice that you two were talking,” she says, and Enjolras honestly has no idea why that should be considered nice. His face must tell her so, because she continues, “I just think you two would get on, I mean, despite everything,”

“Everything?”

“With… nevermind,” she turns away, and joined at the arms as they are he can’t help but notice that she starts walking slightly faster, “Did you talk about anything else?” she asks after a few moments of frankly weird silence.

“I don’t really remember,” she scoffs, and he sighs, “She talked quite a lot, I was trying to work so I wasn’t really paying attention. She asked me out,” he adds and Cosette’s head whips around, her expression clearly astonished.

“What did you say?”

“That I wasn’t interested,” her face fell, and that didn’t make a great deal of sense if he was being honest; it wasn’t like it was news that he had turned down a girl, and why should she be so interested in his social life anyway?

“Were you at least nice about it?” she asks eventually.

“She didn’t cry if that’s what you’re asking,”

“It isn’t,” she frowns at him, pulling them both to a stop, “You could have just said yes and seen how it went you know,”

“I wasn’t interested,” he says again, wondering how many more times he was going to have to say it before anyone got the message. He had more important things to worry about than high school romance; frankly he had thought Cosette at least knew better, even if she didn’t understand. It isn’t like her to be this pushy.

“How are you ever _going_ to be interested in anyone if you refuse to get to know them,” she pushes as she starts walking again, and he rolls his eyes, “Would it be so terrible to go on one date?” she asks, marching them through the front entrance of the school into the almost empty parking lot.

He pulls them to a stop this time, yanking his arm out of her grip, frankly feeling somewhat angry at her. It’s an unusual feeling. She can be irritating at times. Certainly they don’t get on as well as they used to when they were children, but she is still his sister and his twin no less, and if that weren’t enough Cosette is a fundamentally nice person; it’s almost impossible to be genuinely angry with her, but the more the conversation goes on the closer he’s starting to get.

“Why is it suddenly so important to you that I go out on a date with a girl whose name I can’t even remember?”

“I…” she pauses, looking suddenly a little panicked for a moment before taking a deep breath and pulling herself upright to full height. Genetics were a little unfair in their distribution of height, and even now she only just comes up to his chin. “I am your sister!” she states, clearly annoyed, “I want you to be happy! Is that a crime now?”

“I am happy,”

She scoffs loudly, marching off down the stone steps. He watches her, stunned for several seconds, before taking off after her. He honestly can’t imagine the reason for this sudden outburst.

“Cosette what the hell is this about?”

She rounds on him suddenly, “Would it kill you to have some fun once in a while?” she shouts, “Is the concept of actually enjoying your life, just a little bit, completely foreign to you?”

He frowns, definitely angry now, “I get a great deal of enjoyment out of knowing that what I do may make a difference,” he snaps. He doesn’t know what has brought this sudden ‘intervention’ on, but he doesn’t care that she’s his twin sister right now. She has no right to dictate to him what he should or should not be doing.

“That’s not the kind of enjoyment I mean, and you know it. Enjy,” he winces at the old nickname, “Can’t you just put away your causes for one night out of every thirty and have some actual fun. Your friends worry about you. I worry about you. I think even Grandpapa worries about you!”

“I don’t see how you expect me to enjoy myself, when there are far more worthy things that could be holding my attention. And don’t _call_ me that!” he was shouting as well now; he couldn’t even remember the last time that he had shouted at her, “Why are you suddenly so interested in my life? What does it matter to you?”

She turns almost completely red in the face, silent for several moments before letting out a long growl of frustration, “Fine!” she snaps, throwing her arms out in defeat, “It doesn’t. Do what you like!” and with that, she storms away, practically throwing open the doors of the car their Grandfather always sends them on days they leave late. He marches around to the front, seating himself beside their driver; Paul gives him a confused look, but he simply shakes his head and the car starts and pulls out of the parking lot.

Cosette is silent the whole way home. She doesn’t even say thank you to Paul for driving them, and Enjolras honestly cannot decide whether he’s still angry with her, or worried about her. He wonders briefly if it has something to do with her outburst at the dinner table a few weeks ago. He hadn’t paid much heed to it at the time, and had half thought she was making it up purely to get him out of an argument with their Grandfather – and he had been very grateful to her for it – but now… He had heard Feuilly and Jehan discussing how she had started taking German tutoring sessions with that new boy. Mario? Now he thought about it, it was weird that she wouldn’t have mentioned getting a tutor.

Still, he thinks, as he steps out of the car and thanks Paul for the both of them, that wouldn’t explain why she was suddenly so invested in _his_ love life; or voluntary lack thereof. Unless it was some sort of weird ‘living vicariously’ thing; but somehow he doubts that. A plausible reason doesn’t occur to him until he steps through the front door just in time to hear her bedroom door slam as their Grandfather walks out into the hallway. They exchange a brief glance, and Enjolras shrugs, but as the older man turns away again, a reason suddenly presents itself; why it took him so long is a mystery.

He climbs the stairs quickly and hurries down the hall, knocking gently on the door to her room. When he gets no response he calls through to her, “Cosette?” still nothing, “Look I’m sorry, can I come in?” there are several seconds more silence following this, and he considers leaving her to it for a while to collect herself, but then he hears footsteps and the door cracks open.

“What?” she asks, opening the door fully, allowing him space to walk into the room. He stands awkwardly in the centre as she closes it behind him. She moves to sit down on her bed, looking up at him with exasperated expectation. He fidgets, not really knowing how to broach the subject; comfort has never really come easily to him, and it’s been a long time since he really knew what to say to Cosette.

“I know why you’re mad,” he says, and her gaze hardens suddenly.

“I’m _not_ mad,” she replies harshly, and he can’t help but raise an eyebrow at her. She turns red again and stares down into her lap.

“Okay, look,” he starts again, “I know… I know it must be hard for you, with Grandfather’s rules tying you down,” she winces and he knows he’s hit the nail on the head, “And, I know it must be irritating for you when I have freedoms that you don’t have, and you think that I don’t even really want them or at least that I don’t act on them; like I’m taking them for granted,” and he takes her silence as an affirmative, “It’s not that I’m opposed in general to the idea of having a relationship, but right now I… I don’t see the point, I have so much that I want to do, and right now something like that would get in the way. I don’t want to risk everything I’m trying to achieve for some high school fling that almost certainly won’t last…”

“What do you know about it?” she snaps suddenly, eyes blazing, confirming his suspicions about her and the new boy, “How do you know your soul mate isn’t walking past you every single day, and you’re just too blind to notice it?”

He pauses, staring at her levelly, she doesn’t give an inch this time, “I don’t,” he admits, “But, right now it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Some things are more important,”

“You really think that?” she asks quietly, and something in her gaze softens, almost like pity and he feels his own walls go up. He’s perfectly happy with his choices; he doesn’t need to be pitied for them.

“I do,” he says with conviction, and she looks suddenly sad.

“We really are opposites, you and I,” she says contemplatively, “Weird huh?”

He supposes it is weird, twins being so fundamentally different to one another. It explains at least why they have drifted apart so much over the last few years.

“I’d like you to go away please,” she says suddenly, lying down on her bed and turning away from him. He doesn’t argue; he has no idea what he would say to her anyway. He walks slowly back across the room and pulls open the door, wondering whether or not he should mention that he knows about Mari…Murrey? The new guy. She’ll only cut him off; tell him that she was lying, that it’s nothing. She’ll know that he knows she’s lying, but it’s not worth bringing it up, so he simply leans back into the room and calls her quietly, “Cosette,” she doesn’t respond, but her body tenses to prove she’s heard him, he pauses for a moment, trying to decide what to say; finally he settles on “Just… be careful okay?” because if their Grandfather finds out, he doesn’t want to think about what might happen. She still says nothing, and he backs out of the room, pulling the door too and heading across the landing to his own room.

His mind flits back to the history assignment he never got around to really working on, and he briefly considers plugging in his laptop to get started on it again, but as he lets the door slam closed behind him, several piles of books that had been teetering precariously for several days suddenly give up the ghost; falling right across his path. Resigning himself to an evening of getting no school work done whatsoever, he bends down to start clearing things away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who finally meet up in the next chapter ;D.
> 
> Apologies for how long this is taking, doing a Master's degree in screen writing and directing is not conducive to keeping up with fanfic projects sadly =( but I will try my very best to be more prompt.


	12. In Which Eponine Gets a Friend Involved {Grantaire}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled: In Which Éponine is the Only One With a Clue.  
> or: First Impressions Are Not a Certain Someone's Strong Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for how long this has taken me to continue... I have excuses, I won't bore you with them right now. On with the chapter.

It’s midday – or at least, he’s pretty sure it’s midday – when Éponine barrels into their usual hideaway like a whirlwind and, totally ignoring the odd looks being sent her way, marches straight over and grabs his arm.

“Get your shit together and put the bottle down, we’re leaving,”

Grantaire doesn’t move except to take an exaggerated drink from his bottle.

“Leaving for what, exactly?” he asks, and though she moves like a cat to grab the bottle, even ever so slightly drunk his reflexes are better than most; so what if his chair wobbles precariously? It didn’t actually fall, and she didn’t get the bottle, so it counts as a win. He waggles a finger at her, purely because he knows that it will irritate her. Indeed, she frowns and grabs at his arm with two hands, tugging at it.

“If I have to suffer through a debate club meeting; then so do you!”

“How do you figure that?” he asks, taking another sip from his bottle as she tries without much success to physically pull him up out of his chair.

“I figure, that since I have, more than once, dragged your lazy, drunken ass out of a gutter and down several, extremely dodgy streets, back to your rat hole of an apartment, you owe me a favour or two yourself,” she snaps, finally letting him go and standing back brushing long black hair out of her face. She glares, putting her hands on her hips and looking a good deal more dangerous than a girl of her size probably has the right too. She might not be strong enough to lift a grown man out of a chair when he really doesn’t want to go, but Grantaire is perfectly aware of what she is capable of. It’s that, on top of the fact that she really has helped him out of a tight spot many times, that convinces him to place the bottle down on the table and finally get up.

“Good!” she says, gripping his arm again and leading him through curious glances towards the exit of their little nest; he goes along without a fuss.

When they emerge into daylight she turns back to look at him, and frowns again.

“Do you own a clean shirt?” she asks.

“I think I may have done,” he replies, and she sighs exaggeratedly, “Once. Éponine what is this about? You’re the one seducing this guy, what does it matter if I look a mess? If anyone asks I’ll just say you dragged me for moral support; against my will,”

“It matters because I think this guys inheritance is somewhere in the seven or eight figures, and he is at the very least used to being around people with access to a decent washing machine,”

“If you think I reflect badly on you, then I am perfectly happy to go back to my drink,”

She flushes, pulling at him again as she continues their walk towards the school, “No, no,” she says hurriedly, “It’s fine, you’ll do,”

He would say she is acting strangely, but it’s really not that unusual for her to have sudden changes of heart and mood. Case in point, he wouldn’t normally have put her down as the kind to get a crush on some random kid and then offer to help him get a date with someone else; times and Éponine change. So he lets her drag him into the school, and down several corridors, and doesn’t question it when she walks him straight into one of the boys bathrooms and messes with his hair for several minutes until she deems him ‘at least a little bit presentable’. Which a quick look in the mirror convinces him means ‘you look, just slightly, less like you rolled out of a drainpipe this morning than you did five minutes ago’.

There are more corridors, and he’s starting to feel a little bit lost; and maybe he should think about actually attending classes more regularly because he’s not sure he’s even been in this part of the school before today. Éponine seems to know precisely where they are going however, as she continues to move with purpose through the maze of corridors until finally coming to a stop in front of one particular door. There’s a small label holder with the words “Debate Club” held inside it. Grantaire groans lightly, fully prepared to be bored out of his mind, but Éponine ignores him, and pushes the door open and they both slip inside.

They must be late, because the club is already in session. The team itself has split in half, two groups of four sat at opposite tables to one another. Most are sitting, except for one, and nobody turns at their arrival because all eyes are fixed on that one figure. It doesn’t take long at all for Grantaire’s eyes to fix on him either.

He’s seen him before, he’s sure of it, though that’s to be expected as they are in the same school and the same town, they must have passed each other by numerous times; but he’s never really _seen_ him before; not like this, he’d remember.

Éponine nudges him and he leans down a little to hear her whisper, “That’s him,” and he blinks, gaze moving quickly between her and the boy in full flow at the head of his team.

“Kind of cute huh?” Éponine mutters, moving them further into the room and dragging him towards a row of chairs at the back.

Cute… is not precisely the word that Grantaire would have chosen to describe the boy currently standing at the front of the room, shouting passionately on the inherent goodness of mankind.

That would be a good word. Electric might be another; stunning, impossible and strikingly radiant. A work of art from ancient times; agonised over until every curl was perfectly carved in intricate detail, and now brought to life; for some inexplicable reason in the centre of a tiny classroom in Patria High.  Éponine nudges him, bringing him back to Earth.

“Grantaire?” she hisses, clearly still looking for a response from him that includes more than an open mouth and silent awe. He coughs lightly into his hand, and nods his head at her.

“Yeah, cute,” he agrees, because it’s easier, because he can tell that she isn’t seeing the same thing that he is seeing. It simply isn’t worth trying to explain it to her, because it hardly matters. He already knows she has no real interest in him besides the task appointed to her by Marius; and he thinks to himself as this ‘Enjolras’ tears into whatever argument his teammates are testing him on now, that she should perhaps have asked for a lot more than a favour.

When it becomes clear that Éponine isn’t going to say anymore, probably feeling it’s best to listen and have at least something to say to him afterwards, he too zones back into the contents of the speech itself.

It’s all utter bullshit; that much he is sure of. He’s reasonably certain he’s never heard such a deluge of overly optimistic, completely unrealistic and utterly unachievable, crap, in one go before. The potential of mankind for unquestioned kindness. A future without war or oppression or hatred. Peace, equality and liberty for all. “Love thine is the future”. Normally he’d be killing himself laughing and yet by the time it comes for the other half of the team to continue their rebuttal, he finds himself having moved forwards in his chair, leant as much towards Enjolras as he physically could be without actually getting up and walking towards him. He tries to lean back surreptitiously, but catches Éponine sniggering at him in the corner of his eye and ends up slumped in his seat feeling utterly pathetic and ridiculous.

“He’s quite engaging,” he offers quietly, and she nods, unable to hide a grin.

“Uh huh,” she replies, and he shrinks even further down in his chair.

The ending of the meeting cannot come soon enough, and Grantaire rather thought Éponine might let him go now that she doesn’t need him as a potential distraction from boredom. However his attempt to escape is quickly prevented by her looping her arm through his, and he has to wonder what exactly she’s playing at when she starts moving them towards the front where the team has broken off into small sections, chatting away in a far less serious manner; only Enjolras and a tall boy with glasses seem to still be wrapped up in business talk. It’s towards them that they’re heading, and when they are about halfway across the room, Enjolras glances up Grantaire feels panic build up and he pulls to a stop.

“Nope,” he says and Éponine looks at him curiously, he shakes his head at her, “I’ll cheer you from afar, I’m not going over there,”

She scoffs and pulls at his sleeve, but he isn’t going to budge, “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snaps quietly, sending a quick glance over to where Enjolras has gone back to paying them no heed.

“What do you need me for anyway?” he hisses.

Éponine seems to search for words for several seconds before snapping, “To make me look good by comparison maybe,” with a frown, and if he wasn’t already getting slightly suspicious by now he’s absolutely certain that she’s up to something.

“I am not going over there Nina!” he whispers back, “Absolutely not. Have you looked at that guy recently? He’s radiating fucking sunshine or something. No. I’m leaving, whatever it is your planning you can just stop right now,”

She levels him with a disbelieving stare.

“Wow,” she says slowly, reaching out to place a hand on his forehead, “I know you were at the bottle earlier, but are you really that drunk or did you get sick?” he swats her hand away with a glare.

“I am not even nearly drunk enough for this!” he hisses.

“Stop being such a baby,” she hisses back, “Come on, you said you’d help!”

“No, _you_ said I’d help,” he replies, and she raises an eyebrow at him.

“I thought you knew by now that that’s practically the same thing,” and okay she sort of has him there, but if she thinks he’s going over there after that… then she’s got another thing coming. Grantaire is a particular expert in digging his heels in.

“Hey, you guys okay?” they both jump at the voice, and turn to find a short, red headed boy with a friendly smile standing right beside them, gazing at them expectantly. Éponine recovers the fastest from her surprise and quickly rearranges her face into a smile, pulling Grantaire around and pushing him forwards slightly.

“I’m Éponine,” she says cheerfully, “This is Grantaire,” she adds, and the boy reaches out a hand in welcome, shaking first with Éponine. Grantaire takes his hand in silence.

“I’m Feuilly,” he replies, “Are you guys thinking of joining,”

Éponine snorts, “God no,” and Grantaire glances round at her, surprised, she winks at him before continuing, “No offence, not really my scene,” she continues, and Feuilly looks as confused as Grantaire is feeling, clearly wondering what two random people are doing in his clubroom if they have no intention of joining.

“Grantaire on the other hand,” and Grantaire catches on far too late, sending her a desperate look, which she ignores, “He’s been talking about it for ages,”

Feuilly’s smile returns as he turns to Grantaire, who tries to stammer out a denial, “No that’s…” but Éponine cuts neatly across him, patting him patronisingly on the shoulder, and oh, she is definitely going to pay for this someday.

“No need to be shy,” she laughs, “He’s dreadful, but he’s way smarter than he thinks he is, and normally he never shuts up, perfect combination really,”

“Sounds a little like Enjolras,” Feuilly laughs in response, nodding his head sideways at their club leader, who is staring at them again; Grantaire swallows hard around the rising lump in his throat. He’s actually going to kill Éponine for this; what she thinks she’s playing at he has no idea. “You should speak to him,” Feuilly raises a hand to wave Enjolras over before Grantaire can even really register that he’s spoken, and as such he definitely doesn’t have time in which to prepare himself. He uses the time to glare at Éponine, who is standing looking particularly smug.

“Yes.” Enjolras’ tone is short and impatient, and Grantaire has an inkling that it probably has something to do with his exchange with Éponine the previous day.

“This is Grantaire,” introduces Feuilly, “And his friend…”

“We’ve met.”

Éponine giggles. Éponine does not _giggle_ , in his experience at least, and Grantaire is genuinely beginning to wonder if this isn’t all some weird alcohol induced dream. If it is he should probably think really hard about trying to cut down… or maybe drink even more and black out instead. He’s pretty sure which is the most likely.

Someone pokes him in the ribs. Éponine if he had to guess.

“Huh?”

“I asked, what did you say your name was?” Enjolras asks

Grantaire blinks at him for several seconds. He’s not quite so fearsome, standing still and not driving a point home, but there’s still something rather intimidating about him; and the longer Grantaire simply stands and stares and says nothing the more irritated he looks.

“R... I mean, ’Aire,” he finally manages to say, “That is, Grantaire… Gran… you get it?” Enjolras looks stoically back at him, and he can’t quite tell whether he doesn't get it or doesn't find it amusing. If everything Éponine filled him on the night before was true, the latter seems more likely. Feuilly snorts; and that at least gives him some confidence back. It’s possible he can work his way through this exchange without _completely_ fucking up; then he can start plotting his revenge on Éponine for putting him in this situation to begin with.

“And what exactly made you want to join debate club?” Enjolras is asking, looking hugely sceptical, and really now would be a perfect time to tell everyone present that this is all some stupid prank being played on him by his sorry excuse for a best friend; then grab said best friend and get the hell out of there. Back down the rabbit hole; he’ll never have to see him again.

“Oh, the view mainly,” is what comes out of his mouth far too quickly, and somewhere in the corner of his eye he can see Éponine stiffen, a quick glance shows that she is biting the inside of her mouth and just barely suppressing laughter. That’s around about when his words catch up to him, and he feels his whole face turn red with mortification. In front of him, Feuilly isn’t even attempting not to laugh, even clapping Enjolras on the shoulder in his amusement. Enjolras himself is not laughing. For how animated he had been during his speeches, now he only seems to have one expression, seemingly unaffected.

“If you two are done wasting my time,” he replies, turning to leave.

“Wait, wait!” Éponine calls after him, and Grantaire’s hopes that he will simply ignore her and carry on walking – that would be the sensible thing to do – are dashed as he turns back around, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Sorry,” she says quickly, “He has this… Well it’s not actually a condition I guess. He’s an idiot. Gets really nervous sometimes. Doesn’t think before he speaks, that sort of thing, but he really is interested I swear. In joining!” she adds quickly.

But with that steely gaze focussed elsewhere but on him, and with Feuilly having excused himself – possibly to go tell the rest of the group of the exchange if the sudden burst of laughter from the corner is anything to go by – Grantaire is finally able to drum up some of his courage and being well and truly sick of whatever game Éponine is playing on him he says loudly, “No, I’m really not!” glaring at her.

She glares back, equally irritated at him apparently, although why she should be mad, when he’s the one being dragged from pillar to post and nearly left for dead in a room full of his more idealistic and stupidly good-looking peers, is beyond him.

Enjolras turns to leave again, and this time Éponine lets him go, putting her energy instead into marching up to Grantaire and smacking him around the head.

“Ouch,” he deadpans, because she didn’t really put any force behind it, and even if she had she’s practically mouse sized, “The hell is that all about,” he hisses.

“You’re a moron, and you’re ruining my plan,” she hisses back, “You’re supposed to be helping me get him out of his house, not driving him off,”

“You’re the one they want him to date!”

“Well then they’re idiots too,” she replies, folding her arms, “That boy couldn’t be less interested in _girls_ if he was actively trying,”

“You’re saying he’s gay, and neither his sister nor his best friends have ever noticed?” says Grantaire, raising an eyebrow at her. She sighs, and shrugs lightly.

“I’m saying he’s pretty difficult to read, so I wouldn’t be surprised… I don’t know if he’s gay per se, that’s why you’re here,”

“Oh right, because I’m the perfect bait when you need to test the sexuality of someone who looks like that,” he nods over at Enjolras, who by the way he’s gesturing wildly is clearly engaged in some sort of debate, again; does he not take a minute off?

“Courfeyrac and Marius obviously thought something about me would interest him, and much as I hate to admit it, we have… some similarities…” Grantaire sends her an incredulous look, because the things they have in common are a tendency to skive off lessons, a general ‘no fucks given’ outlook on life, a high tolerance for alcohol and that one matching tattoo of Simon’s cat they have on their respective left thighs from that one time they tried to out-drink one another. Hardly the sort of qualities he imagines someone like Enjolras would be interested in.

“Also, you’re the only person I could think of at short notice,” she adds, only slightly sheepish. At least that makes some sort of sense.

“And you didn’t think of maybe telling me that was why I was here,” he asks, “You know, just a brief heads up,”

“You would have said no,” she states matter-of-factly, and yes that’s exactly the point, this whole situation could have been entirely avoided. She must read this on his face, because before he has the chance to say it out loud she cuts across him, “Look,” she says, “Couldn’t you just, for five minutes, pull yourself together, go over there and apologise for being rude, be your charming self, or at least, somebody elses charming self – you act right?”

“The confidence you have in my charms is touching, really,” he replies, folding his arms and glancing nervously across at where Enjolras is now eyeing the two of them with growing suspicion. Éponine follows his gaze for a moment before punching his arm again to get his attention.

“Ow,” he says drolly and without enthusiasm.

“Aire come on, if we keep just standing here he’s going to think we’re just fucking around with him,”

Grantaire eyes her, “Is that not exactly what we are doing?” he asks. She shifts her weight slightly from one foot to the other, looking suddenly uncomfortable. He can’t help but feel somewhat angry at Marley or, whatever his name was, for putting her up to this in the first place. “Nina…”

“I made a promise Aire,” she hisses, glaring up at him defiantly, as though daring him to feel sorry for her.

“Just, tell them it’s not going to work,” he replies, trying to keep his patience, “It’s not exactly your fault that their heteronormative assumptions didn’t exactly pan out as planned,”

“There! See why don’t you use words like that when I’m trying to get you dates with activists,”

“Éponine…”

“Look, I promised Marius I’d help him and Cosette spend some time together in places that aren’t the school library, and I intend to follow through on that,”

“Why?”

She falters, which is itself vastly unusual for her. Normally she’s sharp as a tack and quick with a comeback to anything.

“Because,” she starts slowly, “Because I owe it t…”

“You don’t owe him shit!” Grantaire says angrily, at the back of his mind beginning to make plans to track down this asshole who has his best friend believing that he can bat his pretty eyes and

“To her!” Éponine shouts, startling him out of his plotting retribution. She seems surprised herself and they both glance around them to see what impact her little outburst has had on the rest of the room. Thankfully, the answer would appear to be none whatsoever, as at some point during their hushed argument the club has disbanded and the room is now empty. Slowly their attention returns back to one another and Grantaire levels a questioning gaze at his best friend.

Éponine sighs, “I… I owe it to her,” she finishes quieter this time.

For someone who takes great pride in knowing all there is to know about the people around her, Éponine has always been something of a mystery herself. Grantaire knows, he thinks, a lot more than most about her and her family, but she’s managed to keep a great deal secret, even from him. He knows that somewhere in her past, there is a connection with Cosette, he’s observed that much, but what it is he has absolutely no idea.

“Éponine what exactly happened between you and Cosette?”

She swallows hard, clears her throat and for a moment he thinks she might be about to tell him. Her eyes have a sadness that is unrecognisable in her; regret, he thinks. Then she shakes her head and it’s gone as fast as it appeared.

“It’s not really… It doesn’t matter, but this isn’t just about Marius okay?” she says, her voice levelling, returning to its usual strength, “And frankly that you think I’m _that_ desperate for his approval is… Well I guess that doesn’t matter either. The point is, I made a promise to him, and I keep my promises, but also… Cosette… she deserves this.”

The look she gives him then is a unique combination of earnestness of feeling and a promise of pain should he continue to deny her, softness and steel which Grantaire is convinced only she could ever really pull off. He can already feel his resolve to stay out of this whole mess weakening under her gaze and it’s only a few seconds later that he slumps his shoulders, letting his head fall back slightly with a groan.

“Okay,” he says, with a feeling of doom already creeping over him, and she almost shrieks with thanks jumping upward on her toes to wrap tiny arms around his neck “I’m probably going to regret this but I’ll do my best,”

Éponine lets him go, skipping backwards in a strange little dance like motion, “You’re the best,” she says, “You’re the best and I swear I will make it up to you,” she scurries around him, planting her hands on his back and giving him a shove.

“What now?” he asks, incredulous, because God knows how long it was since Enjolras even left the room, and God knows where he’s gone now.

“Yes now!” she says, “You made an awful first impression, you have to sort that out as fast as humanely possible!”

“I don’t even…”

“Oh they can’t have left more than five minutes ago,” she says airily, cutting him off and giving him another push, slowly but surely edging him in the direction of the door, “He has a free period after lunch so he’ll probably be heading to the dining hall to grab lunch before it closes,” By now their slow, stumbling progress has edged Grantaire out into the corridor, and he looks left and right trying to ascertain exactly where they are.

“I don’t even…”

“Just go down the corridor to the right, take the next three lefts, a right and another left, you’ll be there in no time,” she reels off and darts backwards into the room, gripping the door, “Good luck,” she calls gleefully slamming the door shut and leaving him alone and blinking at it in the corridor. By the time he comes back to himself enough to open it again he finds the room completely empty, and with no other doors in it immediately obvious. He can’t help but worry slightly over her, and by extension therefore, her father and mother’s, knowledge of the school and all its twists and turns.

With nothing much else he can do he closes the door again and heads off to his right, her directions ringing in his head, nerves beginning to build up in his stomach and completely unable to shake the feeling that he may just have been very masterfully played.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically my excuses are thus: Around about when I finished the last chapter was also around about when we had to start working in earnest on our Scripts for my Master's course... and once that was underway, it was pretty much full on until September when we finally handed in our final films and dissertations.
> 
> Suffice to say, that after writing and re-writing the script for months, and then having to actually make a film, as well as being heavily involved with several of my classmates films as well, and then having to write a 10000 word report... I didn't have much time to dedicate to fanfic, and honestly I didn't have much motivation to write anything for a while afterwards. I basically took September off, but I am back now and hopefully should be able to get back into this again.


	13. Chapter 12 – In Which Grantaire Is Exactly As Smooth As He Thought He Would Be. {Enjolras}

Enjolras sighs to himself as he picks up a tray and joins the relatively short queue for food.

The afternoon’s debate club meeting is still playing itself over and over again in his mind. There is still a lot of work to be done if they want to be prepared for competition later in the year. Certain people’s arguments need to be polished, and Caitlyn really needs to learn that she doesn’t have to ramble endlessly in order to make a simple point. That’s just for a start. Some of the new recruits need to start getting more involved. A couple of them had sat out today, they had all contributed to research, and much of it was good, but they all needed to get used to standing up and making an argument in front of an audience. Stammering and fumbling over words wasn’t helping them to sound as though they believe in what they’re saying, never mind convincing anyone else to believe it too. If they only could get a couple of them more confident it would be a start.

As it stood right now, with Bahorel having dropped out, and with Combeferre taking on a coaching role rather than participatory, Feuilly and himself were the only two with any real idea of what they were doing. Not that he was even feeling entirely satisfied with his own performance recently; he simply wasn’t on form.

He curses himself in his head. His own arguments have been a little flat recently, his usual flair for public speaking seemed to have abandoned him somewhat. His facts were well researched but not to their usual standard. With this being his last year, plus his additional meetings with Ms Simplice, he’s not had as much time between lessons to study for anything but the lessons himself. Besides all that he’s sure his delivery is off; missing its usual punch. He’s never been one to believe in false modesty, and he knows that his performance is still good, excellent even by most standards, but excellence was a minimum requirement at the national level… if they even got that far this year. It was frustrating to know that he had more in him but it simply wasn’t showing.

He sighs again and shakes himself, knowing it isn’t going to do any good dwelling on it, he’ll just have to get back into the swing of things. He’s been spending a great deal more time with his mind on Cosette over the last few days, which hasn’t helped. His twin has been acting very strangely for weeks now, and he can’t help but wonder whether it could all be pining for this boy she claims to have fallen in love with. Not that there’s much he can do about that. He’s tried to talk his Grandfather around on the ridiculous rules he imposes on her but he remains steadfast. He understands it, in a way, given what he went through with their mother, and what he then went through to gain custody of them – not that his Grandfather realises he knows about all that – but still, Cosette is paying the price and he sees that it’s unfair. He wishes he could do more but there is so much that requires his attention and besides, they’re so close to graduation she won’t be required to follow his rules much longer anyway.

He returns his thoughts to debate club. Feuilly he is not worried about, he never has to be, and he knows if he can just refocus he can get himself back on track. What’s more important right now is making sure that the rest of the club is keeping up. Realistically they could do with a few more members, for a little variety. Eponine and her strange friend pop unbidden into his mind and he wonders if perhaps he’d been a tad unwelcoming. Things not having gone the way he was hoping during the session, he’d not been in the best of moods. Still remembering how the guy had spoken to him he quashes the thought. He’s not quite that desperate.

Perhaps it was some strange coincidence, or perhaps the world just has a really cruel sense of humour, but it was at that very moment as he shut down the idea that someone coughs at his shoulder and he turns around to discover the very same guy he had just been dismissing from his mind. For a moment, he’s far too surprised to say anything, and so just stands there staring. The guy - what was his name? some sort of pun possibly – simply stands waiting for acknowledgment.

“Yes,” Enjolras manages after a few seconds, and he silently curses the guy for looking so amused.

“Sorry,” he says, grinning “It’s just, I’m kind of hungry and you’ve been standing and staring at the thing I want for like five minutes. So do you want it or…” Enjolras does not blush, but a twinge of embarrassment does flutter unwanted through him as he steps to one side and shakes his head. He’d been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t even noticed that he’s been staring at sandwiches for the last… we he doesn’t really know.

“You’re sure you don’t want it?” the guy asks, “It is the last one and you were staring at it pretty intensely there,”

He shakes his head again, and says “No, it’s fine, just thinking of something else,” the guy simply shrugs and scoops up the sandwich.

“Probably a good move.” He says with a grin, “I wouldn’t really trust the kitchen staff with anything meaty here. I did a detention in there once. It’s probably undercooked,” Enjolras stares at him in disbelief.

“But you’re going to eat it anyway?” he says raising his eyebrows. The guy just grins even wider at him.

“Well I’ve got a pretty strong constitution, and I’m also morally against food that doesn’t contain at least two types of meat,” he shrugs again, holding up the potentially undercooked sandwich, “This was the last available option, so I guess I’ll just have to take my chances.”

Briefly, very briefly, Enjolras considers point out that being morally against not eating things containing various meats is ridiculous and doesn’t make sense, but he checks himself. Even if this guy is being serious – something that he doubts very much indeed but then, you come across all sorts in the world of debate and politics – it simply isn’t and argument worth having. If he wants to risk food poisoning, that is really entirely his problem. He turns away to actually look at the remaining food options. Eating lunch has become infinitely more difficult since he had learned from Ms Simplice that the school board had no intention whatsoever of changing their policy regarding where they buy their cafeteria food. It was going to take an awful lot of work to drum up support again, and until such time, he had been basically reduced to pasta and salad. Which is a whole other thing, he adds in his head as he tries to find something he won’t hate himself for eating, the number of options for vegetarians or vegans was shockingly low.

“Are you going to eat at all, or are you convinced that the shelves are some sort of modern art installation?”

He doesn’t look around this time. He simply frowns to himself and grabs the nearest pot of fruit he spies and marches away. Vaguely he thinks he hears the guy mutter something that sounds like ‘health freak’ but he ignores it. He has half an hour left of his free period and he wants to at least jot down some notes for the Friends of the ABC meeting later that day. Putting his food on his school card he turns to look for an empty table, hoping for some peace and quiet. Behind him he hears the rustle and clink of coins and he darts away lest he be accused of admiring the architecture or however the guy chooses to interpret his latest bout of staring into space.

He sits down and pulls his laptop out from his bag, setting it on the table in front of him, thinking perhaps if he is quick about it he can even get some ideas down for debate club to go through with Combeferre after the meeting. Absently he is aware that the guy, whose name he still can’t remember, has taken a seat on the other side of the hall. He breathes a sigh of relief before setting to work.

**{Grantaire}**  
  
Almost as soon as Enjolras has disappeared behind his laptop, already typing furiously, Grantaire allows his head to fall with a soft thunk onto the table in front of him. Why he had ever let himself get swept up in this utterly ridiculous scheme of Eponine’s is a complete mystery and if he doesn’t simply die right here of shame and embarrassment, from what realistically can only have been five minutes and seven full sentences, he is going to personally ensure she suffers for her crimes. Damn her and her favours and her puppy dog eyes and her promises. He raises his head just slightly for a moment before letting if fall again, with another audible bang, causing a couple of younger students sat a few chairs away to jump slightly and stare at him with concern.

“Exams,” he says when he catches their eyes on him, but he doesn’t move. “Don’t grow up kids,” he adds. Looking even more worried than before the two turn away again, whispering to each other. Whether about the clear horrors of being a senior or the strangeness of Grantaire himself, he neither knows nor particularly cares. Right now he’s busy mentally destroying Marius Pontmercy and Emile de Courfeyrac for bringing this to his doorstep in the first place. It’s a shame really for Courfeyrac, he always quite liked the guy, he’s fun to have around. Marius he has never actually met and Eponine has been less than forthcoming with descriptions, so he just jumps straight to the unrecognisable heap which he’ll look like when he’s finished with him.  

Eventually he manages to pull himself together enough to sit up straight and actually eat his sandwich. Hopefully the little dig he had made at the kitchen had been as untrue as he had thought. If the shame and embarrassment doesn’t kill him, food poisoning might at least put him out of commission long enough to give Eponine and her cohorts enough time to leave the country; which would be deeply unfortunate.

The only thing that he can reasonably feel thankful for is that at the very least she had not followed him, and therefore did not actually witness his ineptitude in action. He had come into the cafeteria and spied Enjolras almost immediately, and he had approached him with all the intentions to apologise, and properly reintroduce himself. He had even planned that he was going to feign interest in the debate club, but then he had reached him and he had just been standing there, staring intently at sandwiches as if all the secrets of the universe were held there and he might understand them if he just looked long enough.

Grantaire is not a subtle man, he makes absolutely no claims to be, and he also is not particularly good at polite conversation or small talk at the best of times. He is good at being an asshole and making sarcastic or mocking comments to prevent moments of awkward silence; the fact that this inevitably makes things more awkward, more often than not, has so far, never prevented him from doing it anyway.

For a very brief moment, after paying for his sandwich – which tastes fine surprisingly – he had considered following Enjolras to his seat. However, with the rest of the dining hall practically empty he knew he had no reason to do so; it wasn’t exactly as if they had been engaged in conversation as had been his original plan. Also, this whole thing was starting to feel a little too much like stalking for Grantaire’s comfort. Enjolras very clearly wanted to be by himself – going out of his way to pick a totally empty table on the far side of the hall – and probably wouldn’t take kindly to being distracted further. Eponine could say what she liked about promises to pretty, probably freckle faced boys, and mysterious life debts to green eyed blonde haired girls but if this guy wasn’t interested then forcing the matter almost certainly wasn’t going to work. He had, therefore, sat as far away as he could.

He finishes off the sandwich, half wishes he had another one as he hadn’t had breakfast that morning and eating only seems to have made him realise how hungry he was, and stands up. The bell is going to go soon, and it’s Math. It’s one of the few classes he actually attends, despite loathing the subject, or rather, because he loathes the subject. It’s one of the few classes he can’t skive off regularly and still pass. He is incredibly lazy about school, and because of that he’d very much like to not be held back, and he has struck a good balance between doing as little as possible and still getting through the year.

Knowing that he doesn’t have time to sit and eat anything else he turns his attention to the coffee machine instead; because if he must sit through Math, he is definitely going to need a pick me up. It isn’t quite what he had in mind, although now he thinks of it, there is a flask in his bag. Maybe if he is careful not to be noticed by any of the teachers dotted around. He heads for the machine, pulling the bag in front of him and slipping the flask out of the front pocket – trying very hard not to think what the school councillors face might look like should she find out – he sets the machine to work.

As the dark brown liquid practically oozes out into the cardboard cup, he makes up his mind. He is giving up. He has given the task a go, not a particularly good go, nor a particularly successful one, but all the more reason why he should never have been involved in the first place; he is vastly unsuited to this sort of scheme. If Eponine is still going to be hellbent on going through with this nonsense then she can damn well find someone else. As soon as Math class ends he is going to head directly to their den behind the bike sheds, he’s going to tell her that he failed spectacularly and that she needs to find a better and more suitable candidate; or better yet, give up on the whole plan entirely.

He pours a less generous helping from his flask than he would like into his coffee, unable to keep from picturing Ms Simplice frowning disappointedly at him as he does, and slides it back into his bag with one hand as he jams a plastic lid onto his cup with the other.

He is going over in his head precisely how he is going to break the news to Eponine that he is out; perhaps from really far away, in sign language, possibly blindfolded so she can’t pull out the puppy eyes again. As such, he really isn’t paying much attention to his surroundings when he turns to leave. The world, he thinks to himself, has a fucking awful sense of humour, and his isn’t much better. Somehow, right at his moment of determination to detach himself from all things relating to Enjolras Fauchelevent, the universe has conspired to put him once again face to face with him. The only saving grace is that the boiling hot coffee spills entirely onto Grantaire’s hands rather than over Enjolras.He’s pretty sure that stalking someone and then giving them 3rd degree burns is a sure way to end up in jail, especially when the person in question is the son of the mayor. As it is the only person burned is him; it hurts like hell, but he manages to hang onto his cup so it isn’t a total loss.

Enjolras it seems to him is struggling somewhere between annoyance at him being right there, again, and apology at being partly responsible for Grantaire burning his hand. He glances at where the skin is turning red and seems to settle on apology as he glances back up looking ever so lightly sheepish and says “Sorry,”.

Considering his resolution, now would be a really good time for Grantaire to shrug it off, tell him it’s no big deal, and walk away. Instead he feels himself grin and hears himself say, “No worries. But you shouldn’t hover over someone like that. A guy might get the wrong idea,”

**{Enjolras}**

The guy - Grantaire, he had finally remembered – winks at him and Enjolras snaps his mouth shut against the rest of the apology he had been preparing to make. Come to think of it he suddenly regrets saying sorry in the first place. It isn’t exactly like it was his fault, after all he hadn’t really been standing all that close behind him to begin with. It had more been the fact that he had been the one to get doused with hot coffee, and technically that had been the result of narrowly avoiding bumping directly into Enjolras; in the moment Enjolras had rather felt he deserved one. Indeed he had come over to speak to him in order to apologise anyway. He should probably have anticipated that Grantaire was going to make him regret it.

Not fully able to concentrate on making his notes he had found himself glancing over his laptop towards where Grantaire had been sat, a few tables away, more often than he would admit too; and had seen him slumped over and looking thoroughly miserable. People who didn’t know him well might think it, but Enjolras was not unfeeling, and he was not as incapable of admitting he might have been wrong as general opinion seemed to believe. He thought about Eponine’s assertion that her friend was too shy to admit he wanted to join debate club, and wondered whether his attitude was some sort of false bravado. He reminded himself yet again that he had a tendency to be quick to judge and could come across as a little short when people didn’t respond the way he expected or wanted them too. Ms Simplice told him he needed to learn to give people more chances to surprise him and in fairness his bad mood had barely allowed Grantaire a first chance. If nothing else, he had thought to himself as he’d been making his way towards the coffee machine, it might be worth apologising just so he would be able to fully concentrate on his work.

It’s the wink that does it. He doesn’t really care much whether it’s bravado or if he really is just obnoxious. Whatever it is he just really doesn’t want to deal with it right now. He turns on the spot and walks away, but he only reaches the corridor before he hears his name being called and he stops.

“Enjolras!” and Grantaire comes jogging around to stand in front of him, he’s lost the grin and in its place he looks apologetic; and that’s the only reason Enjolras does not simply continue walking. “Listen,” he says, “I’m sorry about that,” the surprising thing is that he seems genuine in his apology. “And before that too, in the line,” he continues, then pauses for a moment looking thoughtful before adding “And the club room too I suppose. Honestly, sometimes my mouth moves before my brain has a chance to catch up and… well that’s the result. I’m sorry if I annoyed you, or if I made you uncomfortable. Eponine wasn’t precisely right but then she was not totally wrong either. I am an idiot. Look, I’ll leave you alone from now on I swear I just.” He laughs a little, “Came to bother you to tell you I won’t bother you again I guess,”

Enjolras blinks at him, not quite sure how to take any of that. The change in Grantaire is strangely dramatic. The laugh had no humour, his posture is slumped, his eyes don’t quite find Enjolras’. He thinks again of how he had looked sat at the table earlier. It’s a strange thing, being at a loss for words, it doesn’t happen to him often. But then he supposes he doesn’t come across such contrary people as Grantaire very often either. Before he can think of anything to say in response to his speech, Grantaire is already walking away.

“Grantaire!” he calls, and he turns around looking surprised. Whether because he didn’t expect Enjolras to remember his name or because he didn’t expect him to voluntarily speak to him, or both, Enjolras doesn’t know. “What Eponine said. That you wanted to join the debate club. Was that part true?”

Grantaire pauses before answering, looking at him as if trying to figure out why on Earth he would be asking that. Honestly Enjolras wonders himself why he’s going down this road, but for some reason he couldn’t quite explain even to himself he asks the question anyway, strangely curious about the answer.

“I suppose I’ve thought about it,” Grantaire says after a moment, quiet and from what Enjolras can tell, honest, “It’s possible I may have mentioned it before, but Eponine, she gets these ideas in her head and runs away with them, she caught me off guard today, just dragged me in. Then, all of a sudden, everyone was talking about me joining and I got on the defensive. Sorry. Again.”

He wonders whether he’s going to regret what he is about to say, but really he reasons, they do need new members, and it isn’t like they haven’t been trying to recruit up until now. Part of him thinks that Grantaire will probably say no anyway. Though if he does come and if it turns out that all of this is an act, or that Grantaire isn’t quite the debater that Feuilly had said Eponine claimed him to be; they needn’t use him in competition. At the very least it seems he has the ability to feign confidence. He draws himself up, business like, and takes a couple of steps forward, apparently surprising Grantaire once again.

“Well, if you do want to join you’d be welcome,” he says, “We meet every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday afternoon in the same room as today, 2A15,”

Grantaire stares at him in disbelief for a moment before coughing and saying “Okay,” in slightly strained voice.

“We’re a serious team, the school has competed at the national level for the last five years, and we’ve won the last four,” Enjolras says, in what Courfeyrac calls his ‘this nonsense must stop’ voice, “Don’t come if you don’t really intend to participate,”

Grantaire doesn’t say anything, but he does nod and Enjolras takes that to mean he understands. Whether he will show up or not, he doesn’t give any other indication because at that moment the bell sounds signalling their next lesson. Enjolras starts, suddenly realising he left his laptop and bag at his table.

“I left something in there,” he says and Grantaire nods again.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, “I’ve got Math so…” he trails off pointing vaguely down the corridor and then without saying anything else he practically flees from Enjolras in the direction of the Math department.

Feeling more than a little off balance from the entire afternoon, Enjolras heads back into the cafeteria to collect his things. Not quite sure what to expect the next day when he walks into the club room, and not quite sure what he would prefer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY MOLY IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME!!!  
> There is literally nothing that I can say except I'm sorry. The last two years have just been utter madness and I have barely been able to write one-shots nevermind sit down to think about a multi-chapter.
> 
> I'm still busy, so I cannot promise how regular updates will be, but I am determined to finish this and certainly not to leave it so long.


End file.
